Southern Cross
by Beth aka Midge
Summary: Ezra's life before Four Corners
1. Default Chapter

1 Southern Cross  
  
By Beth aka Midge  
  
Old West (Ezra)  
  
Notes: It is important to realize that this story is written from the 'Southerner's' perspective. I try and stick to canon as much as possible.  
  
Spoilers: Just about every episode…I think (big grin).  
  
Special Thanks: Antoinette, Katherine, and Julie for being so patient and giving of your time.  
  
1.1 Chapter 1  
  
Savannah Georgia  
  
1844  
  
Samuel Liddell stood outside his home, waiting for his younger brother, Preston. The January winds had picked up, and the land seemed to bathe in the cold winter rain. Samuel was not known for being a patient man; he had only learned to be over time, and his brother tested his patience at every chance he got. Their father had died leaving the plantation to Samuel with the condition he care for his brother and family, should the need arise.  
  
Preston had been born the baby in the family and therefore subject to only the best treatment. If he wanted it, he received it. His mother had spoiled him, and as a consequence of that, he made rash decisions, spent his money foolishly, and didn't take responsibility for his actions. Samuel had argued and fought over those issues with his brother, but to no avail. Preston didn't want to listen. He liked spending his time at the gambling halls, winning and losing money…that he didn't earn, and spending his nights with lavish women. It was as though it was his birthright.  
  
Samuel took the plantation's responsibility on his own shoulders. He'd done the right thing. He got married a few months after his father's death, wanting to build a life for himself and his new bride. However, they had never been able to have a child. So, Samuel worked harder. He owned just over fifty slaves, and raised some of the finest horses in the state, which he was well known for. But it wasn't everything to him. He desired a family, like the one he'd had growing up.  
  
"Samuel," a voice whispered behind him. The woman spoke softly so she wouldn't startle him.  
  
"Cora," Samuel replied, turning to catch a glimpse of the slave woman who worked in the home.  
  
"Mastah Preston not back yet?" She asked softly, taking another step forward. She gently touched his shoulder when he hesitantly shook his head.  
  
"You shouldn't be out in the rain," he turned and looked at her, "you'll catch your death."  
  
Cora quickly removed her hand from his shoulder and pointed towards the end of the road. "I's won't be fo' long."  
  
The carriage moved slowly despite the quick steps the horses took to get to their destination. The clops of their feet hit the muddy road creating a stifled echo. Mud splattered in unison and the wet beasts looked to have been bathed in the thick dark substance.  
  
Samuel placed his hands on his hips as the carriage pulled forward and stopped. Before he could reach out and open the door it swung open and Preston jumped out. His flashy clothing quickly became drenched with rain and his pant legs were soon splattered with mud.  
  
"Brothah!" Preston announced, grabbing him by the shoulders.  
  
"You're drunk!" Samuel snapped, pulling out of his brother's grasp.  
  
"Only on life." Preston's dimpled grin grew in size and his green eyes shined bright. He reached inside the carriage and helped a young girl down onto the muddy ground.  
  
"What's this?" Samuel asked in surprise.  
  
"Won her in a pokah game," Preston responded, showing his new 'trophy'.  
  
The young girl wasn't a day over fourteen. Her blonde hair and light green eyes didn't match her ratty clothing, or dirty complexion.  
  
"You won her in a poker game?" Samuel questioned in disbelief.  
  
"Her fathah bet her on a pair'ah aces," he laughed as though it were inconsequential.  
  
Cora stepped forward and gently took the young girl by the hand. "Come, Miss, won't do you's no good bein' out here." She pulled gently on her hand and led her to the house. She knew Samuel was going to have a difficult time understanding his brother's latest escapade.  
  
"You will take that child back to her father!" Samuel yelled.  
  
"I will not!" Preston rebutted. "I won…"  
  
"You will take her back to her father or you will marry her the day she turns fifteen!" Samuel left no room for doubt. "You are a disgrace to the family name, Preston." He looked hard at his brother. "You're not a fool!"  
  
"I will NOT return her!" Preston yelled back, unwilling to change his position on the matter.  
  
Samuel stopped and looked at his brother. How could they be brothers? Though they looked alike, their differences were immense.  
  
******  
  
Cora led the young woman into the plantation home. Chandeliers hung elegantly from the ceiling, finely crafted oak furniture lined the walls and filled the rooms, and exotic rugs made paths throughout the house.  
  
"What's your name chil'?" Cora asked.  
  
"Maude," the young girl answered, trying to sound confident.  
  
Cora led her to a small room up the staircase. Maude tried to follow without tripping, but she couldn't take her eyes off the items in the home. She'd never seen anything like this before. Her father had been a gambler all his life, spending his money as soon as he made it, usually on alcohol. Maude had simply been a handicap, as he had told her many times before. That was until three days ago when he made a bet on a losing hand, risking not only her life but her freedom as well.  
  
"How ol' is ya?" Cora asked, shutting the bedroom door as soon as they entered.  
  
"Sixteen," Maude responded, sticking her chin in the air.  
  
Cora turned unbelieving eyes toward the young girl.  
  
"Fourteen," Maude answered honestly.  
  
The tiny slave woman nodded in understanding. "Can't believe your own pa would off'n bet his own chil' like dat," she continued to mutter under her breath as she helped the girl out of her tattered clothing, "perfectly good white girl." She grabbed a robe out of the closet and helped Maude into it. "I's gonna see to a bath for ya."  
  
"Thank you," Maude replied, watching as the woman left the room.  
  
******  
  
Samuel sat at the head of the table, throwing glares at his brother every chance he could get. Maude, now clean and groomed, looked slightly older than her true age. Cora had claimed it was simply because of the hard life the girl had lived. Preston wasn't concerned with the situation. Like most things, he let it fly off his back without a second thought. However he didn't expect to see the once ratty, unclean, and ragged girl he'd won, turn into the young beautiful girl with the strong potential of becoming a beautiful woman, come down the stairs dressed in a yellow satin gown. Amazing what a little soap and water could do.  
  
Maude was staying.  
  
Samuel wouldn't allow her to return to her father, simply because he couldn't support her father's treatment of her. The least he could do, would be to offer her a place to call home. Preston, however, was thrilled with his prize; she was young, beautiful, and perfect. She'd make a lovely bride…when the time came.  
  
1.2 Chapter 2  
  
Getting married at the age of fifteen was rather young for most Southern women. Usually, for those with 'respectable' upbringings, they waited until after their coming of age, typically sixteen. But this situation was different. Maude wasn't from a 'respectable' family, she was essentially alone, and for the most part a woman of her age in the world alone could only lead to disaster.  
  
A year had done wonders for the girl. She'd grown into a beautiful young woman, and with Samuel's wife, Agnes, helping her with her manners, her beauty increased tenfold. It also helped her self-confidence. Gone was her timid nature, and shy façade. She enjoyed playing cards with Preston, and the two of them seemed to be a matched pair. Both appreciated the mind games found at poker tables, and both had a gift for conniving. The only problem was, Maude was turning out to be a better poker player than him.  
  
Samuel was pleased with the idea of Preston getting married. Perhaps this would make him realize he had a responsibility, he couldn't just up and leave; now he had something to care for. Family had a way of turning boys into men. Hopefully it would work for Preston as well.  
  
******  
  
The wedding was small, at Maude's request, and very elegant. Only immediate family attended, merely Preston's. The young couple left for New York on their honeymoon. They were both looking forward to many nights at the poker tables and gambling halls.  
  
******  
  
Samuel watched Cora move around the kitchen in a familiar fashion. Her two- year-old son, Benjamin, moved around on the floor getting under her feet, but she never minded him. The young boy was a joy to watch. His round pudgy cheeks were usually covered with his last meal, and his little fingers were always into something they shouldn't have been in. Cora was the best of mothers. She never scolded him. He knew he was in trouble by the look on her face.  
  
Samuel had purchased Cora and her brother, Adam, six years before. Adam was a few years younger than his sister but he proved to be an extraordinary worker…just like his sister. Cora was quickly brought in to care for the household duties: cleaning, laundry, and many times, preparations for meals. In many ways she was the queen of the household.  
  
"Are you's goin' to stan' dere all day?" Cora asked, never turning her attention away from the bread she was kneading.  
  
Samuel smiled: "No."  
  
"You's miss 'em," there wasn't a tone of questioning in her voice, but rather knowing.  
  
Samuel reached down and picked up Benjamin. The boy cooed and giggled as his face was wiped clean of the flour he'd been playing in. "Perhaps," Samuel responded and quickly changed the subject, "Agnes needs her medication."  
  
Cora nodded and then moved away from the dough. She poured a glass of water and dumped a spoon of white powder into the fluid. "She bleeds still?"  
  
Samuel nodded. His wife had lost another child, her fourth and possibly her last. He took the glass from Cora's hand and sighed. A lot was weighing on his mind.  
  
"She'll heal in time." Cora's voice sounded confident, more confident than Samuel's.  
  
Samuel nodded and replaced Benjamin on the floor. He smiled softly and then headed out of the room. He hoped, in his heart, she was right.  
  
******  
  
Maude grabbed Preston's hand as he helped her down out of the carriage. Her belly was swollen and although she had the glow of a woman with child, it was obvious the trip home had been a tedious one. Her dress was elegant and she looked as though she'd been born into privilege rather than having fallen into it.  
  
"Why, Miz Maude," Cora gasped, "you's look ready to burst." A smile came to her face, it had been a long time since the sound of a child had filled the home.  
  
Maude grasped Cora's outstretched hand and leaned heavily against her. The pregnancy had not been an easy one. At seven months she felt as though she'd been carrying this child for years.  
  
Preston followed his wife and his brother's slave into the house. They'd kept the pregnancy quiet, not wanting anyone to know for fear of losing the baby. It was as though a curse was causing the Liddell family women to lose their children before they were born.  
  
Samuel opened the front door to the plantation house and smiled when he saw that Maude was in the family way. His brother was going to be a father, a task he hoped he was ready for.  
  
******  
  
Maude looked up at the ceiling and sighed. Since arriving 'home' she'd been confined to bed by Doctor Kennedy. It had been two weeks, two weeks of lying on her back staring up at the wood ceiling, learning every grain, and color. This was hell. Preston had tried to keep her company, but for some reason he and his brother seemed to have discovered a new relationship. Cora was always willing to help Maude with whatever she needed, and her young son was quite entertaining to watch. As for the moment, however, Maude was alone with her thoughts, fears, and uncertainties.  
  
Then the first contraction came. This child was coming, and it was coming five weeks early.  
  
Maude grabbed her belly, not familiar with the pains. When it stopped she sighed in relief and lay back against the pillows. That wasn't too bad. She looked up when Cora came into the room. She carried a tray full of food, but she quickly put it down when she noticed Maude's pale complexion.  
  
"You's all right?" Cora asked out of concern. She reached up and placed her hand on Maude's forehead, checking for a fever.  
  
Maude was about to say something when another contraction came. She grabbed her belly again and cried out, and then her water broke.  
  
Cora fled from the room with the intentions of getting Master Samuel. He'd send for the doctor. This child was coming and it was early. It was hard enough for a child being born, but the survival rate dropped considerably when it came premature.  
  
******  
  
Doctor Kennedy sighed when he cut the umbilical cord of the stillborn baby girl. The child had died in the birthing chamber. Maude collapsed back onto her pillows and cried. The long hours of trying to give birth to a healthy child and this was the result. She gasped again as another contraction came and to the surprise of everyone in the room another child was being born.  
  
Twins.  
  
Agnes wiped Maude's brow with a damp cloth, the miracle of another child was in many ways heartwarming. This house hadn't been blessed with children, and its very walls yearned for the sounds of a baby's cry, and soft songs of lullabies. Prayers were being offered for a healthy child, nobody wanted to see another death, five children in as many years…  
  
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Liddell," Dr. Kennedy spoke up, handing the small infant to Cora. "The boy's alive, but…"  
  
Cora wrapped the baby in a tight bundle and smiled when he let out a welcomed scream. He was small, smaller than any child she'd ever seen before. His dark hair was plastered to his head and his mouth let out more cries.  
  
"He's too small," the doctor said, wiping his hands on a towel. "If he were full term, there might be a chance, but just so you know…I don't expect him to survive past tomorrow."  
  
Maude looked at the doctor in cold contempt. She'd just lost the daughter she'd been hoping for, the daughter that was supposed to have the life Maude never did. Tears streamed down her face, she wouldn't allow this man to tell her what to expect. All her life that's all she'd ever heard, people telling her what to do, how to act, and what she was worth. Even Preston, on some occasions, made her feel less than what she was. Her life had been a hard one, and she wasn't about to let this 'little' incident keep her down.  
  
"You may leave," Maude spoke bitterly to the doctor, before turning her eyes to the open window. She knew what to expect, she didn't need it coming from a man who knew nothing of birthing a child. She tried to hide the tears that fell from her eyes.  
  
"He's only telling you what needs to be said…" Agnes spoke up, knowing all to well what it was like to lose a child. She tried to comfort her friend, but Maude didn't want the attention. Agnes shook her head and quietly left the room, not knowing what else to do.  
  
"He's small, but he's strong," Cora said, holding the infant close to her breast. She ran her finger over his tender flesh and he seemed to calm under her soothing hand. The doctor's words hadn't meant anything to the slave woman, she'd seen all kinds of tragedy in her life and knew when a soul had given up, and this child was willing to fight. That was all he needed to do.  
  
The doctor put his coat on and shook his head. It wasn't unusual for a woman to become melancholy after the birth of her child, and even more so if the child had perished. He'd been here before when Agnes had lost her last baby, and like her, Maude would eventually come to realize her loss, and start to plan for the next. Southern women weren't anything if they weren't strong.  
  
"I'll send your husband in," Doctor Kennedy said, grabbing his bag off of the table. He looked towards his patient, knowing little about what was going through her mind. He didn't bother to look at the child still in Cora's arms, he knew the boy would perish; it was only a matter of time. He opened the door and spoke momentarily with the two men waiting on the other side, before leaving for his practice in town.  
  
Preston entered the room; his face couldn't hide the despair he was feeling inside. His wife never turned to look at him, but the child in Cora's arms made him smile. The slave woman carefully slid the infant into his father's arms.  
  
"He's so small," Preston said, barely above a whisper. "He can't weigh more than a few pounds," he continued, looking up into Cora's eyes. He found conformation there.  
  
"I'll see's to you's daughtah," Cora said, gently picking up the lifeless body of the girl. She turned and looked toward Maude who still hadn't taken her eyes from the window. With familiar ease, Cora slipped out of the room, leaving Maude and Preston with their son.  
  
******  
  
Samuel met Cora on her way out of the house. He'd seen the doctor off and was now returning to check on his family. It broke his heart knowing they'd lost another child, and the other was doomed to perish within a few days. How could God do this to them? How could He punish them so?  
  
"Take the girl to Averum, he'll see to her needs," Samuel said quietly. He reached out and grasped Cora's arm in a comforting hold.  
  
"Dat boy's a Liddell," she smiled, "he's gonna make it, even if I have to han' feed 'im." There was a confidence in Cora that would make even the most cowardice of men take notice.  
  
"I believe you will," Samuel replied knowingly.  
  
Cora reached up and gently patted his hand before making her way out of the house.  
  
******  
  
Maude refused to breast-feed. Not because she didn't want to, but because she couldn't bring herself to get attached to a child that was going to die. In her heart she wanted to hold him, cuddle him, and even hum a tune or two, but the fear of losing him was too great. Cora took it upon herself to care for the boy. He was so small that he couldn't drink out of a normal sized bottle. So Cora dipped her pinky in warm goat's milk and honey and fed the child. He seemed to thrive under her care.  
  
Preston refused to believe his son would perish, so he refurnished a small crib out of an old breadbox. A regular sized crib was just too large. He knew his wife was suffering so he took it upon himself to make arrangements for their daughter's burial. Anna May Liddell was buried on March 19th 1846. She'd been named after her father's mother. Preston decided to name his son Ezra Preston Liddell, after his own father, a tradition that had been carried down for many generations. Preston hoped the tradition would continue for many more.  
  
******  
  
Days turned into weeks and Ezra never gave up. He continued to thrive under Cora's care. He was still week and small, but his lungs were clear and his heart beat with the strength of a giant. He wasn't going to give up easily. Maude eventually softened, realizing her son might be made up of the same substance she was. He wasn't going to be a quitter, not when it came to surviving.  
  
Ezra was more susceptible to chills and many times elevated fevers, but Cora's alcohol baths and milk honey seemed to do the trick in keeping him healthy. Eventually, Preston quit sending for the doctor, discovering that his brother's slave had more of a healing gift than Dr. Kennedy. Samuel became a very attentive uncle. He spent much of his time playing with Ezra and Benjamin, teaching both of the boys about animals and life in general. Though they were much too young to understand, it did keep Samuel busy, which pleased everyone in the house.  
  
By the time Ezra was six months old it was determined he wasn't going to die. He was still underweight and undersize but his strength of will made up for it. He was already speaking, or trying to. He was a very attentive child and he recognized people by the sound of their voices before most children his age would. The bond with his father was as strong as his bond with Cora and he responded to both of them with equal vigor. Maude tried to get close to her son, but something held her back. She didn't understand what it was or why, other than the fact she was terrified of turning into her father. So, if she distanced herself from her son, how could she disappoint him, like her father had her?  
  
Chapter 3  
  
Preston placed his and his wife's luggage into the back of the buggy, and then helped Maude up into her seat. They were leaving for a brief time to check into some investments. Ezra waved to his parents from Cora's embrace, his head rested on her shoulder as he watched. Benjamin stood at his mother's side, holding onto her long dress.  
  
"When will you be back?" Samuel asked his brother.  
  
Preston shook his head. He didn't know. He'd told Maude to stay and care for their son, this was a trip he could take on his own, but she insisted she come. He understood her reasoning, but her place was at home with their child. Ezra needed her care more than anything else, and thus far she hadn't shown much interest. Her priorities seemed to lie with their future, and her need for independence.  
  
"Within the next few weeks," Preston replied, but his voice expressed his uncertainty.  
  
Samuel nodded: "He'll be here," he said, speaking of Ezra.  
  
Preston smiled, something his son could make him do without even trying. Preston knew his brother would care for Ezra as though he were his own, the child was the first one born into this house, and great things were planned for him. The Liddell name was well known in Savannah, it was a respectable name, and one that had served this country from its beginning.  
  
Samuel watched as his brother seated himself next to his wife and started for town. He knew Preston wanted to do what was best for his son, and part of that was preparing for his future now. When Ezra cooed and slobbered on his fist after trying to insert it into his mouth, Samuel laughed. What a picture it made.  
  
******  
  
Agnes left for her quilting party. Something she had always enjoyed, and it gave her time away from the family, which was something she needed. As much as she enjoyed having a baby in the house, he was a constant reminder of her failures to have one of her own. At times the pain was too great, and when those times came she had to get away. Quilting was the perfect answer.  
  
Samuel watched Ezra and Benjamin play together, as children they didn't see the differences in their skin color, or their position in the world. How could they? They were only children…children that acted like brothers. Benjamin already protected his young friend, and enjoyed showing him the world…particularly his toys. He looked up into Cora's face and smiled. He'd purchased her and her brother on a whim. He really hadn't been looking for a new slave, or in this case, slaves. But when he laid eyes on her he knew she was meant to be here, working for him, on this plantation. He'd never regretted purchasing her, and he would have paid twice what he had if the need had arisen. If God had a mother, it would have been Cora. Samuel was convinced of it.  
  
******  
  
By the time Ezra was nine months old he was talking like a child twice his age. He was an active youngster with a curious mind, and Cora found herself busy trying to keep him out of things. Even Benjamin, now called Benny because that was how Ezra pronounced it, was following the younger boy around, and getting into trouble.  
  
Preston and Maude's trip to New York had lasted much longer than a few weeks. It was now going on three months. They wrote, letting Samuel know of their whereabouts, and that was all, until three weeks ago when Preston wrote, saying he and Maude would be home within the month.  
  
******  
  
Agnes looked longingly at Ezra as he played on the floor with the pillows Cora had made for him. He was twice as smart as children his age, and twice as small. His large green eyes matched his uncle's and his father's, a trait that had been passed down through generations. Now, he was the only child that would carry it on. Agnes doubted that Maude would ever have another one.  
  
"My husband's a fool," Agnes said, sitting on the davenport. She kept her hands busy with her knitting needles, but her mind constantly wondered.  
  
Cora looked up from her darning, not really sure if the words were directed to her.  
  
"He thinks I'm blind," Agnes turned her knowing eyes towards her husband's slave.  
  
Cora quickly averted her attention. "I's don't understand."  
  
"I think you do," she went back to her knitting.  
  
Cora stayed quiet, not sure what to say. She looked at her son, a son that had been born from a product of love, not hate. Her son would never know the freedom that Ezra would, or the simple acknowledgment of a name. Benny would never know what it was like to be a slave either. He'd never be sold, Samuel wouldn't permit it, and he'd never be whipped like many of his fellow man.  
  
Benny stood up and with firm strong legs he walked over to where his mother sat. He didn't know what she was thinking, but he knew she needed a hug, she'd taught him all his life that anything could be fixed with a hug. Gently he wrapped his loving arms around his mother's neck and kissed her cheek. She returned his embrace with vigor and he giggled when his mother tickled his tummy.  
  
Ezra screamed in laughter, not understanding what was going on, but knowing the tension in the room had seized. He threw one of his stuffed toys at Benny and the older boy returned to his friend's side. They were three years apart in age, but closer than brothers from the same womb.  
  
******  
  
"YOU DID WHAT?" Samuel screamed, looking at his brother and his wife in contempt. Thankfully the library doors had been closed, softening the sounds of Samuel's anger.  
  
"I lost everythin'," Preston repeated. "I thought I had a winnin' hand…"  
  
"You did have a winnin' hand," Maude spoke up, turning to look out the window. Clearly disgust consumed her voice.  
  
"You lost everything you own on a poker game?" Samuel still couldn't believe what he was hearing.  
  
"I would have won everthin'…"  
  
"But you lost it!" Samuel raged again. "I thought you were past this?" He looked hard at his brother.  
  
"I wasn't meant to be a farmer. I'm not like you, I don't own slaves, or breed horses…Hell, I don't even like horses."  
  
"What about your son?" The older man tried to reason, he ran his fingers through his chestnut hair.  
  
"He's too young to know what he wants," Preston pleaded.  
  
"That decision is yours!" Samuel snapped, "The boy needs a future with stability…"  
  
"I'll decide what is best for my son!"  
  
"Like you're doing now?"  
  
Preston looked in disbelief at his brother. Surely he had to know that there was more to life than running this plantation. There had to be. "I'll sell my share of the breeding stock and the land…" he raised his hand, stopping his brother from saying anything more, "Maude and I'll take Ezra with us, there are some opportunities in Louisiana, and perhaps Mississippi." He started to leave the room. "I'll write you when we're settled."  
  
Samuel watched him go, knowing his brother would not change his mind. They were both stubborn men, and nothing in the world could change that. He looked at Maude, who seemed content with what her husband had said.  
  
"If you ever need anything, Maude…just call on me," he spoke softly, wanting her to hear his words, not his disappointment.  
  
"Preston yearns for his independence, Samuel, and I want that yearning for my son as well."  
  
Samuel looked up at her, and in many ways he understood what she was saying. Life hadn't been easy on her, and he knew she wanted more for her son than she'd ever had. Her father had coldly lost her in a poker game, used her as a bargaining chip to gain the upper hand…but he lost.  
  
******  
  
Cora finished dressing Ezra and she took a long look at him. He was still underweight and small, but he reminded her more of a tiny person than a child. She knew he didn't want to go, but at the same time he wanted to make sure everyone was happy. It was unbelievable how conscious he was of those around him, and the feelings they harbored. Not a trait from the Liddell family, but rather from Maude. He'd be strong because his father wanted him to be, and he wouldn't cry because his mother would be disappointed. A year and a half old and already he was a Southern gentleman.  
  
Saying goodbye to Ezra was as hard as saying goodbye to a child of her own. She'd been with him since birth, and had been his caretaker. Cora was, in many ways, his foundation.  
  
"You's ready chil'?" Cora asked, knowing in her heart he wasn't, but the slight nod of his head gave her permission to pick him up and take him out to meet his father. Cora knew right then that Ezra was going to have a poker face better than his mother or his father, but she also knew that anyone who got close to the boy would discover his so called 'tells'. When he lied, like now, his normally dark green eyes got lighter, and when he felt passionately about something, they got darker. That was a trait all his own.  
  
******  
  
Maude carefully placed her son next to her on the buggy seat and waited for everyone to say their goodbyes. Ezra remained unusually quiet. She covered his hands when he started pulling at his coat sleeve, a nervous habit he was going to have to overcome.  
  
Ezra looked up at his mother and sighed in relief. The simple contact of her hand against his own made him feel more comfortable. They were soft and tender, almost like Cora's. He looked over at the woman who had cared for him for so long, not understanding why she couldn't come. He knew she was sad by the expression on her face, and even Benny seemed unsure of what was happening. Ezra watched as Benny turned his head away from him and rested it against his mother's shoulder. She rubbed his back in comfort, just like she'd done to Ezra's so many times before.  
  
The buggy jolted forward and Ezra tried to look up over the seat but his mother's strong hand kept him in place. He looked at his father and saw reassurance.  
  
******  
  
Cora took a deep breath, trying to keep the tears from rolling down her cheeks. It had been a long time since she'd lost anyone close to her, and this, combined with her past, brought waves of sorrow. Her son didn't understand. He only knew that she was sad.  
  
"They'll be back," Samuel said confidently.  
  
Cora looked at him and smiled, he returned that smile with one of his own. Now, it was his turn to be the rock of stability, the rock of confidence. Deep down, Cora hoped he was right.  
  
Chapter 4  
  
The money Preston had gotten for his share of the plantation slipped through his fingers like water. It wasn't the gambling halls or saloons, but rather the expensive hotels and fancy restaurants. In order to earn money they had to look like people that had money, and keeping up their appearances was financially debilitating.  
  
Gambling would have been a suitable living for a man alone, but Preston wasn't alone. He had a family to worry about. With Maude's creativeness and desire to 'not' live like paupers, they devised several cons, many of which included Ezra. It wasn't Preston's first choice, but at the time he didn't have one. His son still required medical attention from time to time, and living on the road, and many times on the run, was wearing him down. Long nights without any sleep, and at times little food, created the perfect atmosphere for a child to get sick in.  
  
The cons Maude and Preston ran, were everything from fraudulent land claims to the sales of non-running race horses. Because Ezra was so small he was used to play a child genius. By the time he was five he was reading and doing mathematics, but he looked like a three-year-old. His youthful appearance and intelligence made him the perfect pawn in any swindle.  
  
******  
  
Ezra slipped out of the chair he was in and headed behind the saloon bar. Madame Patsy had taken a liking to the little boy and had shown him a place where he could sleep when the nights got overly long. The older woman had cleared a section of the shelving units and placed an old blanket there, giving Ezra a place to go when he got too tired. He quickly learned to disregard the noise levels, but he trained himself to listen for his mother and his father. He didn't want to be left behind.  
  
Maude and Preston continued their poker game that had been going on for 15 hours. They played each other, not as a married couple, but as two strangers meeting for the first time. The people they played were like those of any other place or town. David Owen was a cattle baron who ran over 5000 head of Herefords. In his mid sixties he enjoyed spending a night a week at the saloon playing games of poker. Anthony Corbin and his friend Tom Keats were just a couple of cowhands looking for a few days of fun.  
  
Nobody expected the game to continue for as long as it had, but nobody was willing to just leave, there was too much silver on the table. No one noticed that Ezra had disappeared, not that he had been noticed to begin with.  
  
David threw a few chips into the pot and called. He rubbed his eyes and tried to stifle a yawn. "So, Miss Simpson, how long do you plan on being in town for?"  
  
Maude smiled, ignoring the look from her husband. "Why, I'm unsure at this time," she replied with a smile. Married or not, this man had a lot of money.  
  
"I would like to invite you to tea," he said, placing his cards on the table.  
  
"Now, Mr. Owen, I'd be honored…if of course your wife approves."  
  
"The privilege of remaining an unmarried man is the lack of children." He smiled and picked up his hand of cards.  
  
"I tend to agree," Maude replied, capturing the man's full attention.  
  
David looked at his cards and tossed them down. The money on the table meant nothing to him, he had much more than that. "Would you care to join me?" He stood up and held out his arm for the lovely young woman to take.  
  
"I could not possibly leave…" she looked at the money in front of her, and though she hadn't been winning, the allusion that she might, insured her more than she imagined.  
  
"Of course," David spoke up, "I'll pay you for your time."  
  
Maude's eyes increased in size, and she looked appalled at what he was implying.  
  
"No, no…" David said, "Tea and dinner is all I ask."  
  
Maude looked around the table before folding her cards and placing them on the table. "That is acceptable, gentlemen," she nodded to the others and then took the arm that was offered to her.  
  
Preston clenched his jaw and watched his wife leave with that man. He glanced over to the bar and saw his son peaking out from behind the counter. What must he be thinking? Preston thought to himself. Uncomfortable his own guilt he moved his eyes away from Ezra and back to his cards. He could do this; he had to…for his son.  
  
******  
  
"Ezra," Preston said, shaking his son's shoulder, "Ezra."  
  
The boy turned uncomfortably in the small spot he'd been allowed to sleep. Carefully, his father pulled him from the cubby and then patted his back as he picked him up into his arms. Ezra wrapped his arms around his father's neck, not noticing the saloon had closed and only one other person remained in the room. Preston pressed his cheek against his son's and smiled. He'd made enough money to take he and his family back to his brother's in Georgia. He knew he'd have to humble himself tremendously in order to face Samuel, but he also knew if he didn't their might not be a future for his son.  
  
"Goodnight, Mr. Liddell," the bartender said, wiping down the counter with a wet cloth.  
  
Preston nodded and then quickly left the saloon with his son still in his arms. It was late, and most of the town's citizens had gone to bed. Preston understood why, after seventeen hours of sitting at the gaming table he was looking forward to a good night's sleep as well.  
  
"Fathah," Ezra whispered, he could feel his father's back tense and his steps became quicker.  
  
They were being followed.  
  
Preston turned down an alley and quickly pulled his son from his shoulder. "You stay here," he ordered, pushing the boy between some crates.  
  
"But…"  
  
"I mean it Ezra…stay here," it was an order, and not one to be disregarded.  
  
Ezra pushed himself between the crates and tried to make himself disappear. He could see between the slots, and his father moved farther away from him. Ezra could see three other men enter the alley; two of them had been playing poker with his father.  
  
"You cheated," Tom Keats said, throwing his hat down.  
  
"And we want that money you stole from us," Anthony snapped, placing his hands on his hips.  
  
"I didn't cheat," Preston said, backing away from the men. He didn't want them to know where his son was hid.  
  
The other man laughed outright, as though he knew something nobody else did. "Where's the money?" He asked, changing the tone of his voice.  
  
Preston sighed, if he gave them the money how could he get his family back to Georgia? If he didn't give them the money…then what would happen? He held up his hands in surrender, he didn't want to fight, his son was there, and possibly watching.  
  
"The money's in my breast pocket," Preston said, all the while looking for an escape route.  
  
Tom chuckled: "So you're a coward as well as a cheat?" He grabbed the gambler's arm forcefully, but he received a quick jab to his face, stunning him momentarily.  
  
Preston grabbed his weapon from his hip but was pushed to the ground by the other two men. He never screamed out for help…he never screamed. He fought with everything he had, but it wasn't enough. His money was ripped from his pocket and then his chest was assaulted with forceful kicks and punches. He tried to fight back but the three men outweighed his efforts. He never felt the blade that entered his side, just the pain that followed.  
  
Tom Keats stood up, breathing hard. He smiled when he started counting the money in his hand. Suddenly he turned, after noticing the small form that was making its way toward them. "What the hell?" he asked, squinting his eyes, trying to get a better look at what was coming toward them.  
  
"Well, I'll be damned," Anthony sighed, "Brave little shit ain't he?"  
  
Tom looked down at the man he'd beaten. "Let's go," he ordered. He started to walk away but stopped in front of the boy. "You ever say anyhin' 'bout this…" he turned and pointed to the man lying on his back in a puddle of blood, "I'll come kill everyone you ever cared 'bout." He grabbed the boy's chin forcefully, and made him look him in the eye. "You understand me boy?"  
  
Ezra nodded.  
  
"Good," Tom replied, releasing the boy's chin. "Boys," he called to his men, "let's go."  
  
Ezra watched them for a moment, and then wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. He looked to where his father lay. Tentatively, he stepped forward. He looked back toward the alley entrance, wondering where his mother was. She'd know what to do. He wiped his nose again, wondering what to do.  
  
"Papa," Ezra said softly, crawling beside his father. He gently shoved his father's shoulder.  
  
"Ez…ra," Preston gasped, as blood flowed from the corner of his mouth. He grabbed his son's hand, slightly harder than he'd anticipated.  
  
Ezra's face contorted in pain, not from his father's grip on his hand, but rather, the fear of not understanding what was happening. He wasn't familiar with death, not in this manner. Tears streamed down his cheeks, as he watched his father choke on his own blood.  
  
"Papa," Ezra cried, looking from his father to the alley entrance. Slowly, he stood up and moved closer to Preston's head, Ezra grabbed his father's coat and tried to pull him. But he wasn't big enough, or strong enough. "Don't die, Papa," he pleaded, as he continued to pull on the jacket.  
  
Preston never moved.  
  
******  
  
Maude carefully folded the money she'd received from the baron and placed it into her chemise. She'd been offered his hand in marriage, but she refused, saying she'd been promised to someone else. Luckily, he bought the story.  
  
She'd left the restaurant late and was now headed back to the hotel. She sighed in relief when she realized everyone had gone to bed, being out late with a man she hardly knew was not only unacceptable behavior for a 'single' woman, but absolutely abominable. Only the late night fires burned in the empty streets, lighting her way. Her time staying in this town was limited. It was better to not stay in one place too long; cons were easily picked up on if they didn't make their escape soon.  
  
Maude past the saloon and stopped suddenly when she heard the soft sound of a child crying. It wasn't in her nature to check on something so menial, but something inside her told her to check. The alley was dark, except for the dull light coming from the building behind the saloon. She stopped suddenly, when she noticed her son pulling frantically on his father's coat.  
  
"Ezra," Maude gasped. For the first time in years, fear gripped her heart. She dropped her purse on the ground and rushed for the pair.  
  
"Momma," Ezra cried, finally feeling as though someone was there to help. He slumped down on the ground and wiped his face again of the tears he'd shed. Blood smeared his cheeks and hands.  
  
"Preston?" Maude knelt next to her husband and wiped his face with her gloved hands. She knew he was dead, and her heart broke. For the first time in her life she realized she had loved him. But she couldn't let it show. "Ezra," she called to her son, "what happened?"  
  
Ezra looked up at his mother, unwilling to answer. He knew what would happen if he did.  
  
Maude shook her head and then looked around, trying to see if anyone had seen them. She took her husband's wallet, watch, and his deck of cards. Quickly, she picked up her son and rushed from the alley, picking up her purse on the way out.  
  
******  
  
Maude quickly helped her son change out of his stained clothing. His face and hands were covered in his father's blood. He hadn't said a word since leaving the alley, and he hadn't made any effort to. After Ezra was changed and cleaned up, Maude packed their bags. They needed to get out of town, and thankfully a stage was leaving the next morning.  
  
"Stop crying," Maude ordered, trying to gather their belongings. They couldn't be affiliated with a murder; a murder would leave rumors and stories that even she couldn't get away from.  
  
Ezra wiped his eyes and looked to the floor.  
  
Maude stopped, having not intended to strike out at her son. But she was just as scared as he was, and she only had herself to rely on. She picked up a blanket and moved her son to the bed, she knew he wouldn't sleep but she also knew that any amount of rest would help.  
  
Ezra hid under the blanket and tried to fall asleep, only because he knew his mother wanted him to.  
  
As soon as the packing was complete Maude dimmed the light in the room. Then, and only then, did she let her tears fall.  
  
Chapter 5  
  
Going back to Georgia was the only opportunity Maude had. Ezra was refusing to say a word, and using the cons she and Preston had come up with involving their son, required him to speak. So, now she was left with a little boy who didn't talk and was becoming more of a problem than Maude could handle at the time. She needed to be able to make money, not just spend it.  
  
"Here," she handed her son the cards his father had played with.  
  
Ezra took them with a sad smile.  
  
"Practice some of the moves your father showed you…. It'll keep your fingers nimble, and it's best if you learn those cards; how they feel in your hands, and memorize the way each of them look. Your father always said that the Ace of Spades was his good luck charm." She pulled out her own deck and started shuffling them. Her life was in the cards, and she knew it. They always had been, from before her father's betrayal until the day she died. Those simple items moving through her fingers would never betray her, because she wouldn't let them…not like Preston did when he died.  
  
Ezra looked at the cards, the same cards he'd played with so many times before. Their edges were slightly worn, and some of the pictures were fading, but he didn't mind. They had been his father's.  
  
Maude watched her son for a moment before turning her attention back to her own cards. She hadn't told Samuel they were arriving. He didn't even know his brother was dead. She'd break the news to him once she arrived.  
  
******  
  
Cora stood up from her flowerbed, and stretched her back. She lifted her face to enjoy the warm summer sun. She could hear the men out working in the back pastures. There were over a hundred head of two-year-olds that needed to be broke, and all of the men were working on it. Cora smiled; her brother was out there, working as the plantation's overseer.  
  
She looked toward the road when she heard the sounds of horse's feet hitting the hard ground. They weren't expecting anyone, but a surprise visitor was always welcomed. Cora wiped the dirt off of her skirt and walked toward the front gate to greet the plantation's guest.  
  
When the carriage pulled to a stop, the door opened before the driver could get down from his seat. Maude stepped down and looked around at the plantation. It was good to see Cora again.  
  
"Why, Miz Maude," Cora said with a smile, "it's so good ta see you again." She opened the gate, and stepped closer to the carriage.  
  
"Cora," Maude acknowledged, reaching into the carriage for her son.  
  
"Why's, Master Ezra," Cora seemed to glow under the child's gaze, "Look how bigs you gettin'." She reached for the boy and embraced him.  
  
"If you would be so kind as to take our luggage to the house," Maude directed her statement toward the driver of the carriage. She didn't wait for an answer, and she reached for Cora's back and walked with her to the house.  
  
"Where's Master Preston?" Cora asked, rubbing Ezra's back.  
  
"I'll explain inside."  
  
******  
  
Samuel knew when he entered the study that something was wrong. Maude was sitting in the large chair next to the fire and Cora was tending to Ezra, who looked more lost than ever. Preston wasn't here.  
  
"Maude?" Samuel asked, trying to hide his trepidation.  
  
"Samuel," she responded, looking up and meeting her brother-in-law's eyes. She waited until he seated himself on the settee before she started her explanation. It wasn't as easy as she thought it would be. She looked to her son for strength, but he didn't have any to offer. He only looked at the flames burning in the fireplace. How strange, she thought, having a fire in the middle of a hot summer's day.  
  
Samuel looked at his nephew and sighed. "What are your plans?" He asked, knowing she wouldn't stay in the area for long.  
  
"I'll leave tomorrow and explore a few…opportunities up north."  
  
"You can stay here," Samuel offered, but knowing she wouldn't.  
  
"There is more money owed on this plantation than it's worth, Samuel. My son needs a future, not a debt." Maude looked at her son and returned her gaze to Samuel. "I would like to leave him with you, until I can arrange something?"  
  
"Of course," he agreed.  
  
"He hasn't spoken since his father's death, and I fear…well," she didn't want to continue, "I need to locate the proper facilities…"  
  
"We'll care for 'im," Cora spoke up, not allowing Maude to finish. The boy still refused to release his grip of the slave woman's neck.  
  
Maude looked to Samuel for confirmation, and she found it there.  
  
******  
  
Samuel watched as Maude said her goodbyes to her son and then quickly disappeared inside the carriage. He didn't understand her unwillingness to stay, and it wasn't his place to force her to. She reminded him of a caged bird, and she was one that was unwilling to cooperate unless it was on her own conditions. Samuel squeezed Ezra's hand and then walked him back to the plantation house.  
  
It was going to be nice having a small child running through the empty halls and rooms again. Since the loss of Agnes last winter, the house was missing its hominess. Samuel truly missed his wife, and it was her desire to give him a child of his own that finally killed her. He took some responsibility for that. Now, it was just Cora, and Benny, who slept in a room on the bottom floor of the home. Normally that wouldn't be accepted, but Samuel's turn of bad luck over the past year made for some allowances.  
  
He couldn't believe that Maude had left Preston alone in the alley after his death. No matter what he'd done in his past, he'd deserved a proper burial. Samuel sighed; in his heart he knew Ezra had witnessed his father's demise. Why else would the child stop talking? If anyone could remedy that, it would be Cora. She'd been with him since birth, and she knew him better than he knew himself. Just because it had been four years since she'd had the opportunity to care for the boy didn't mean anything. She was the stability he needed at the moment, and Samuel intended to make sure that happened.  
  
"Benny!" Samuel yelled to the boy.  
  
Benny stopped in his tracks, after leaving the house at a run. He wanted to go watch his uncle work the young thoroughbreds. "Yes, sir?" He asked, turning toward the man.  
  
"Take Ezra with you," he ordered, releasing the child's hand.  
  
Benny nodded, and took Ezra's hand and led him toward the corrals out back. Samuel watched them go, not quite believing that his brother's son was almost six-years-old. Slowly, he ran his fingers through his graying hair. He'd leave it to Cora to get some meat on the boy's bones, and once that happened, he'd grow.  
  
******  
  
Ezra smiled when the big chestnut galloped by. Every muscle on the animal's body seemed to flex with every step he took, reminding the small boy of the complex mechanics of a well-made watch. He loved horses, loved the way they moved, and he loved the way their hair felt when he brushed them.  
  
"That's my Uncle Adam," Benny said proudly, pointing to the man running the horse through his paces. "He's teachin' me to ride."  
  
Ezra looked up and nodded, letting the other boy know he understood.  
  
"How come ya don't talk?"  
  
Ezra shrugged his shoulders, not offering to explain further.  
  
"Wanna ride?" Benny asked, looking at his friend.  
  
Ezra's eyes got big. Oh yes, he wanted to ride. He'd ridden with his father a few times but that was all. Most of the time he was in trains or carriages. He nodded anxiously, and then followed the older boy.  
  
******  
  
It was obvious to everyone who witnessed, that Ezra had a way with horses, and the horses seemed to be therapeutic for the boy. His uncle had purchased a small pony for him to play on, because he didn't want the small child to get hurt on one of the larger animals. Although, Samuel doubted that any of his horses would harm the boy.  
  
Both Benny and Ezra taught the pony, now called 'Whitey' because of his color, tricks of all kinds. Ezra thought the name was very unoriginal, but he never voiced his opinion. The boys played for hours with the animal, never missing a day, and the little pony was quickly becoming spoiled to their treatments. Hourly brushings, treats of all kinds, and many times led out to the lush green grass next to the creek, was turning the little gelding into another person, rather than an animal. But that was how the boys saw him, a friend, rather than a pet.  
  
Chapter 6  
  
1853  
  
Since his father's death, Ezra still had yet to utter at word. It had been almost two years. Maude had come and visited a few times, but she quickly left when discovering her son hadn't said anything. A child that didn't talk wasn't any use to her, and she needed a partner, not a boy.  
  
He was still small, but in the year and a half that he'd been home he'd grown tremendously, thanks to Cora's care. Her peach cobblers could almost get him to speak, he enjoyed them so much, and she tried to make them as often as she could. Benny and Ezra were almost inseparable, and Cora enjoyed seeing the friendship, that was in many ways stronger than that. They got in trouble together, protected each other, and played together, just as if they'd been born of the same woman. Cora didn't mind, she loved what she saw, and she loved Ezra as though he were her own.  
  
******  
  
Samuel escorted his neighbor, Jack Humphrey, into his study. He poured two cups of coffee and set one in front of his friend before moving behind his desk. "What can I do for you, Jack?" He asked, folding his fingers together.  
  
"My daughter's gettin' married…"  
  
"Congratulations," Samuel interrupted, with a smile on his face.  
  
"Thank you," Jack responded proudly. "As a weddin' gift I'd like to give my daughter a proper house slave. Someone who could help her with the household duties, and possibly the children that will come."  
  
"I'm sure you could find one at an estate sale…there are plenty…"  
  
Jack shook his head, stopping Samuel from saying anything more. "I don't want field niggers…"  
  
"Why are you here, Jack?"  
  
"I'm willin' to pay, $1500 for Cora…"  
  
"She's not for sale," Samuel didn't let him finish despite the amount of money he offered.  
  
"I see," Jack nodded his head in understanding.  
  
"Why not try the sales again?"  
  
"Have you been there lately?" Jack continued when his friend shook his head. "The Yankees are bringin' their slaves further down south for the sales, hoping to attain better prices," sarcasm dripped from his words, "most of them are in such bad shape it's amazin' they can even stand. More than half of them are missin' their toes and fingers from exposure to the cold." He ran his fingers through his long gray hair. "Yankee bastards won't even pay for proper clothing or footwear…everyone knows how cold it gets up north," he looked to Samuel for conformation, and he received it, "most of them are ill…I even came across a woman who was missing her nose."  
  
"And they blame us for atrocities."  
  
"Hell," Jack snapped. "You can't buy insurance on a slave from the north, the companies say they're in too bad of shape. Walt Myer won't lay a hand of his slaves…insurance companies won't pay out for a slave that's been unlawfully beaten. But the Yanks, they don't even bother with insurance, they say 'it's not worth it because the slaves don't live long enough'…they won't when they're freezing to death." His voice had increased in volume considerably. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees.  
  
Samuel understood his friend's dismay. All Southern men were feeling it.  
  
"We're losin' our rights, and we're lettin' it happen," Jack said softly. "I got two boys at fightin' age, Samuel…" he paused, unsure of how to continue, "I've lived through a war, I don't want them to ever see one."  
  
"It hasn't come to that point yet…"  
  
"But it will," the determination in his voice wasn't lost on Samuel. Jack stood up and looked around the room, wishing here were someplace else. "I'll see myself out," he said softly, before turning and leaving.  
  
Samuel paused and sighed. Things were changing. "Do you plan to hide there all day?" He looked over to the cabinet.  
  
Slowly, Ezra crept out of his hiding place, not able to look his uncle in the eye. He squeezed his hands together; afraid he might get into trouble.  
  
"Did you hear enough?" Samuel asked, picking up his coffee cup.  
  
Ezra nodded.  
  
Samuel looked at the boy and smiled. "Were you playing with Benny?"  
  
Again, Ezra nodded.  
  
"Well, you'd better go find him, before he thinks you've hidden yourself permanently." He took a drink and replaced the cup on the table. He watched as Ezra looked up and smiled softly at him, then like a mouse, he rushed from the room. If Ezra could talk, Samuel was convinced the boy would have made his opinion known about selling Cora. He was as close to the slave woman as he was anyone else, and much closer to her than his own mother. But that was to be expected. Maude had a vein of independence that ran longer than the Nile River, and having a child that needed her at every moment would only hinder what she needed to do. Samuel was convinced that was the reason Ezra didn't feel the need to ask for anything, because he knew he wouldn't get it, unless he got it himself. The boy never approached anyone, unless they approached him first, and he tried to stay out of the way, unless something was required of him. Maude had taught him these things, they didn't come naturally, Samuel was convinced of it.  
  
******  
  
Cora filled the plate full of rolls and quickly placed it on the table. Benny and Ezra were waiting for their dinner, and then it was off to bed. The small table in the kitchen was old, but it was sufficient. Cora had finished serving Master Liddell just moments before. He usually ate alone in the dining room, while going over his figures for the plantation's expenses. The slaves, and the children ate in the kitchen, or in the chow hut that was out by the slave quarters.  
  
"Uncle Adam let me ride 'is horse, Copper, today," Benny said proudly, taking a big bite of his potpie. "He's gonna train me so's I can do his job when I get bigger."  
  
"Don't you be botherin' you Uncle," Cora warned, "he's got 'nough trouble wit' 'is own two boys."  
  
"He don't mind," Benny responded. "He even said that Ezra's gettin' big 'nough to ride the bigger horses."  
  
Cora smiled proudly at her son. "You's just be careful."  
  
Benny smiled with his mouth full of food, causing Ezra to laugh. Cora sent her son a look of warning but was ignored when she could keep from laughing herself.  
  
"I done taught ya better manners 'an that," she laughed, covering her own mouth. Benny had a way about him that his mother couldn't help but admire. He loved to tease and joke around. It wasn't uncommon to see him playing practical jokes on other slave children his own age. She never tried to break him of it, only because everyone seemed to enjoy it.  
  
Benny finished his meal first and then looked up at his mother. "Can I go help Uncle Adam feed?" he asked energetically.  
  
"I made peach cobbler," Cora said, wanting to make sure he didn't want to eat dessert. When she saw the pleading in his eyes, encouraging her to let him go, she nodded in acceptance. "Don't be long," she warned before he shot up and rushed out the door. "What 'bout you, Master Ezra?" She asked, knowing good and well he wanted a piece of her cobbler.  
  
Ezra nodded.  
  
Cora stood up and cut him a small piece of the dessert. She made it small, just like she'd done many times before. She knew he wanted seconds every time he finished, but she wouldn't give it to him. He needed to ask for it. In the year that he'd been home she could see his desire to speak grow stronger each and every day. But there was something holding him back.  
  
"You're gonna hav'ta say somethin' one of these days," she said casually, placing the plate in front of the boy. "An' I'd really like ta hear dat pretty little voice of yours." She watched as he poked the food with his fork, she knew he was uncomfortable. Cora grabbed a plate of her own and started eating the lush dessert. Ezra soon followed suit. "Those the cards you's daddy was always playin' wit'?"  
  
Ezra looked at the cards he'd been holding in his hands. He'd refused to let them go since he'd gotten them. Slowly, he nodded his head.  
  
Cora watched him carefully, trying to tell by his expressive eyes, how far she could push him. "Who's you 'fraid of, chil'?"  
  
Ezra looked at her, wondering if she knew something she wasn't supposed to. He swallowed hard and placed his fork back onto his plate. He looked toward the door, trying to find an escape route. Ezra jumped when Cora reached out and gently grasped his hand. He looked up into her eyes and saw only love there. She wasn't doing this to be cruel.  
  
"It was you're daddy's time, chil', it weren't your fault," she said softly, hoping to strike a cord.  
  
Immediately, Ezra's eyes went wet with tears and he turned them away from her. All he wanted to do was run and hide. It would be easier to hide. Cora didn't give him a chance as she grabbed him by his arms and pulled him into her lap. He didn't fight, but rather rested his head against her shoulder and wrapped his arms around her neck, allowing her to gently rub his back.  
  
Ezra wiped his eyes roughly: "They said they'd kill you," he spoke softly into Cora's ear.  
  
Cora frowned: "Me?" she questioned, not understanding. She felt him nod his head. Suddenly her heart constricted and her throat got tight. She knew it wasn't her in particular that he was talking about, but instead those around him that he cared for. "They ain't gonna hurt nobody, chil'."  
  
"They wouldn't stop…beatin' him," he cried into her shoulder.  
  
Cora continued to rub his back, offering the only support she could. Tears streamed down her cheeks. He'd been holding it inside for so long, now, maybe he could rest easy.  
  
******  
  
Samuel entered the kitchen to find Cora seated and wiping her face clear of the tears she shed. She still held Ezra's limp form after he'd succumb to the call of sleep. "Everything all right?" he asked out of concern.  
  
Cora smiled: "He spoke…chil' finally spoke." She brushed Ezra's hair away from his face.  
  
Samuel reached down and picked up his nephew. "I'll take him to bed," he said.  
  
"I'll sees to Benny…chil' thinks he's gonna be a cowboy."  
  
"Boys have got dreams too, Cora."  
  
"An' their mother's?" Despite the concern written on her face, there was a light atmosphere in her words.  
  
"You worry too much," Samuel said, moving toward the door with his charge. He turned back and looked at her. She was so tiny and yet so strong. "You always have." He turned back around and headed toward Ezra's room.  
  
Cora placed her hands on her hips and watched them go. Samuel knew her all too well, way too well.  
  
Chapter 7  
  
Benny and Ezra ran into the house but stopped suddenly when they noticed Samuel had a guest. Both boys hid behind the large oak desk and listened. Ezra could see Cora, listening as well and hiding behind the door leading to the kitchen.  
  
******  
  
"$1800 is my last offer," Jack Humphrey said, slapping his knee.  
  
"She's not for sale," Samuel's voice was harsh, and unwavering.  
  
Jack looked at his friend: "You're a stubborn fool, Samuel." He shook his head and then looked around the room. "You're the only slave owner I've ever known who's never had a slave run…why is that?"  
  
Samuel didn't miss the accusatory eyes staring back at him. "I don't treat them like animals," the bitterness in his voice was heard throughout the room.  
  
******  
  
Ezra carefully grabbed the small ink well from the corner of the desk and then stood up in plain view, making as though he was just coming in from the kitchen. He walked to where his uncle sat with his face dripping with innocence. The two men ignored him, seeing no reason to pay him any mind. Ezra reached up, trying to grab a book off the shelf, but he continued to hit the small table that his uncle's and the other man's coffee was on.  
  
"What do you need, Ezra?" Samuel asked, slightly annoyed with the boy's behavior.  
  
"The Canterbury Tales," he responded, pointing to the leather bound book.  
  
Samuel reached up and grabbed the book and then handed it to Ezra, who took it with a smile. The boy turned and left the room, motioning for Benny to follow him. They rushed to where Cora was standing, just inside the kitchen entry, and paused.  
  
"What did you do?" Benny asked.  
  
"Watch," Ezra responded, pointing to where the two men sat.  
  
******  
  
"You should teach that boy some manners," Jack said, taking a drink of his coffee.  
  
"Yes," Samuel responded, watching where his nephew rushed off. When he looked at Jack, he noticed his friend's teeth and lips were black. Samuel took a deep breath, trying to maintain his composure.  
  
"If you will not see reason, I should be goin'." Jack said, getting to his feet. He could hear the subtle sounds of laughter in the background, but he kept it to himself.  
  
Samuel stood up and started to follow his friend out toward his carriage. Before he reached to door, he turned and threw a dirty look to the two boys…and Cora.  
  
******  
  
Ezra and Benny rolled around on the kitchen floor in laughter. Jack Humphrey didn't realize what had happened, and that made it even funnier for the boys. Cora didn't say anything to them, she knew they'd get into trouble, but for the moment she was laughing on the inside.  
  
"Ezra!" Samuel's bellow echoed throughout the house. It wasn't lost on anyone that he was angry. He entered the kitchen with his hands on his hips.  
  
Cora stood by the kneading table, working on her bread. She tried to keep her face expressionless, but she was failing miserably. She watched as Benny and Ezra stood up, ready to face their punishment.  
  
"What do you have to say for yourself?" Samuel asked, looking directly at his nephew.  
  
"Mr. Humphrey doesn't have a right…"  
  
"I'll decide what Mr. Humphrey's rights are," Samuel's voice was deep and threatening. But it was good to hear Ezra defending himself. "You go to your room and stay there until I come to get you."  
  
Ezra sighed, but he knew what he'd done was wrong. "Yes, sir," he answered softly, before leaving the room.  
  
Samuel looked at Benny: "Did you know anything about his plan?"  
  
"He didn't mean nothin' by it," Benny defended.  
  
"That's not what I asked." Samuel looked to Benny and then to Cora, who had yet to say anything. "Go help with the feeding," he ordered, and then watched the boy leave.  
  
"Did you tell Mr. Humphrey 'bout 'is…?" Cora pointed to her teeth.  
  
Samuel smiled: "No," he responded with a chuckle, before heading back to his study. Leaving a laughing Cora in his wake.  
  
******  
  
"I's tellin' ya," Benny said, leaning closer to Ezra, "she's a witch."  
  
"There's no such thing," Ezra protested, peaking through the bushes.  
  
Both boys watched from a distance the old blind woman snapping the ends of her beans. Scars ran across her face, something sharp had marred her features and had taken her sight. She lived on a small parcel of land between two plantations, one of which belonged to Samuel. The old slave woman had been allowed to stay there simply because she wasn't any use as a laborer any longer, and most people feared her, or rather the 'power' she possessed.  
  
Benny had learned about her early in life. His mother had taken him on a hot summer's day to visit with the old woman. Cora visited her every week, making sure she had plenty of food. It was the way the old woman looked that scared most people. She seemed to know things that nobody else did. Most times she could sum up a person's life in one sentence, and sometimes one word. She kept her hair wrapped in a long cloth, and her attire was the tattered remains of old Negro cloth.  
  
Ezra watched her mechanical movements. Everything she did was automated, as though she'd done it a million times over, and now she didn't have to think about it. Despite her blindness, her face expressed a smile and contempt. She was someone who understood her fate, and didn't question it.  
  
"Let's go talk to her," Ezra suggested.  
  
"No way," Benny responded quickly. "She'll cut our heads off an' cook 'em."  
  
Ezra gave his friend a quizzical look and shook his head. "How do you know she's a witch?" His sarcasm was obvious.  
  
"Just look at 'er," Benny replied, pointing his finger through the brush and toward the old woman.  
  
"I'll ask her," Ezra responded with a smile. He stood up and started walking towards the old woman, leaving a stunned Benny in his wake.  
  
Benny looked around, his eyes spread wide with fear. He stood up suddenly and rushed towards his friend. "Wait for me," he yelled.  
  
The old cabin could hardly be called a cabin at all. It resembled more of a shack that had been poorly built. Baskets of all sizes lined the small porch, cobwebs and moss hung from the awning, creating a ghostly appearance. Old potato sacks hung in the windows, being used as both curtains and shutters.  
  
"Who's there?" The old woman asked, pausing in her work.  
  
"Just me and Benny, ma'am," Ezra responded with a quiet voice.  
  
"Who's me?"  
  
"Ezra…Ezra Liddell." He stepped up closer to where the woman sat, looking around her meager home.  
  
"You's Master Preston's boy?" The old woman went back to snapping the ends off the beans.  
  
"Yes, ma'am."  
  
"An' Benny, why's you here boy?" She asked, knowing the child was shaking with fear.  
  
"I followed Ezra," he responded, barely above a whisper.  
  
The old woman laughed: "What's you boys want?"  
  
Benny shoved Ezra's shoulder and waited.  
  
"Are you a witch?" Ezra came right out and asked.  
  
The ex-slave woman laughed so hard the boys had to join her. Her whole being seemed to come alive with the question, until she stopped suddenly. She turned her face toward them. "Do ya think I is?"  
  
Benny hid himself behind Ezra's back, not an easy feat considering how small he was and how large Benny was.  
  
"No. I don't believe in such foolishness." Ezra stuck his chest out proudly, unwilling to waver on the subject.  
  
"You's papa said da same thin'," she replied.  
  
Ezra looked at her, wondering why she was the way she was. She rocked back and forth, as though she was sitting in a comfortable rocking chair, but the chair she was in was stationary. He looked again at her face, trying to read what was going on in her mind. Her dark skin blended with the background of the shack she lived in. Her face was covered in old scars, making her appear more frightful.  
  
"Han' me dat towel," she pointed to the old cloth that hung precariously from the banister.  
  
Ezra picked up the towel and handed it to the woman. When she reached out to take the item she brushed his hand. Ezra moved away from the woman quickly and returned to his former position on the ground in front of the porch.  
  
"Death walks close to you," she spoke clearly and plainly.  
  
Ezra looked up at the woman, not understanding her words. Benny leaned over and whispered for them to get out of there, but Ezra couldn't move. His feet seemed to be weighed down with rocks. When the old woman started laughing, exposing her black, decaying teeth, both boys turned and rushed from the shack. Ezra could hardly keep up with Benny, but the fear of someone, or something following him, drove him. They could hear the echo of the woman's laughter filling the air that surrounded them, and like a body struggling for air in a sea of water, the boys ran harder trying to escape.  
  
******  
  
"I's told ya she was a witch," Benny gasped, grabbing his knees while trying to regain his breath.  
  
"Who was she?" Ezra asked, between gulps of air.  
  
"A witch," Benny responded, looking at his friend as though he'd lost his mind.  
  
"Her name?"  
  
"She ain't got one," Benny replied, shrugging his shoulders.  
  
Ezra looked at his best friend, confused by his statement. "Everybody's got a name."  
  
"She don't," Benny snapped. He looked around, longing for the kitchen his mother was working in. "What do ya think she meant?" He referred to the old woman's statement.  
  
"Nothin'," Ezra quickly answered, and then started walking back to the house. She hadn't meant anything by it, he hoped anyway.  
  
Chapter 8  
  
When Maude received the letter from Samuel stating that her son was speaking again, she rushed home to pick him up. Their reunion wasn't spectacular; it was just, Maude arriving home and Ezra greeting her. Like the other times she'd come home for a visit, everyone expected her to turn around and leave, just like the times before. This time however, she was taking Ezra with her.  
  
Cora, like the mother she was, worried about the young boy's future. The last time Maude had left with Ezra, she'd returned him in a terrible state, a state that Cora never wanted to see again. At Ezra's request, she never spoke to anyone about his father's death. He didn't want anyone to know, for reasons only he understood. And Cora wouldn't break that promise.  
  
Benny was another matter. He didn't want his best friend to leave. For over three years they'd gotten reacquainted, and rediscovered that bond that they'd had as small children. They told each other secrets, shared their dreams, and understood each other's pains. Nobody except Ezra knew that Benny had a crush on Tilly, the daughter of one of the field slaves. And nobody except Benny knew that Ezra wanted to become a music composer. These were secrets that would remain unspoken because they'd made that promise to each other as friends, and brothers.  
  
******  
  
Ezra looked at the bag that held all of his belongings. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for the book his uncle had given him. The Canterbury Tales, a sweet reminder of his antics from a few months before. Maude wouldn't understand, he knew she wouldn't, but that was okay, because she didn't need to understand.  
  
When Cora entered the room, Ezra looked up and smiled. "I's packed you an' your mother a nice lunch an' some peach cobbler, for when you's need it." She smiled, and ran her fingers through his hair.  
  
"Thank you," he responded, and then stood up and grabbed his bag.  
  
Cora followed him out the door and down the stairs. Samuel was there and took the boy's bag, along with Maude's. Benny hid behind the bookshelf the rested on the far side of the room. He'd already said his goodbyes, but he wanted to watch and make sure Ezra left okay. A silent support system for not just himself, but those he cared for.  
  
"I'll write you as soon as we're settled." Maude put her gloves on and eyed her son. Without being told he knew he was supposed to get inside the carriage, and he did, obediently. "I appreciate what you've done, Samuel, but it's time Ezra was with me. My fiancé has agreed to help him with his studies, you understand that he's my main concern, don't you?" She looked at her 'former' brother-in-law, making sure he understood what she was saying.  
  
"Of course," Samuel nodded, and then took her arm and led her to the carriage.  
  
"The Liddell name isn't as…respectable…as it used to be," Maude looked over her shoulder, indicating to where Cora stood.  
  
"I never would have thought you to be a…"  
  
"Hold your tongue, Samuel," Maude snapped, "appearances are everythin'…particularly in the South."  
  
Samuel nodded, but felt disgusted inside. "Ezra," his voice was firm and his despair was well hidden, "take care of your mother, and if you ever need anything…" he let the question hang.  
  
Ezra smiled and then nodded. He knew where he could go if he ever needed a place.  
  
Samuel helped Maude into the carriage, and then he tipped his hat to her as the driver raised his hands and the reins he held slapped the rumps of the horses'. Samuel turned and headed back to the house. He ignored the look on Benny's face, as well as Cora's. He couldn't cope with their grief at the moment, he had his own to deal with.  
  
******  
  
"When are you getting' married?" Ezra asked, trying to get comfortable on the stage seats.  
  
"I already did," she replied quickly.  
  
"But you said…"  
  
"I felt it was better for your uncle to believe that I wasn't married…"  
  
"Who is he?" Ezra interrupted, looking out the stage window at the lush lands of the South.  
  
"He's a banker in St. Louis," Maude replied. "He wants to meet you." She smiled.  
  
Ezra nodded in understanding: "Why didn't you write and tell me?"  
  
"Everything I do is for your own good, and you should not question it." Maude sent her son a look of warning. "I've told him how smart you are, and he's looking forward to teaching you about the books."  
  
"What's his name?"  
  
"Christian Simmons," she replied.  
  
"And my name?"  
  
Maude smiled, pleased that her son had the insight to ask. "Standish."  
  
Ezra nodded in acceptance. He didn't understand why his mother was so frequently on the move, or why she felt the need to do the things she did. When his father was alive they moved a lot, usually from town to town, but this wasn't like those times. Preston wasn't there anymore, and Ezra missed his father's confidence.  
  
******  
  
Christian Simmons exited his home in robust fashion. His red rosy cheeks, and full figure created more of caricature of the man, rather than the person himself. He was short in stature, and the buttons on his vest strained to keep hold of the position.  
  
"Maude, darlin' you're home," he said, with more vigor than Ezra anticipated.  
  
"Why of course, Christian," she cooed, taking his hand as he helped her from the stage.  
  
Ezra followed, rather surprised by his mother's approval of such an individual.  
  
"And this must be your son," Christian said with a warm smile. He patted his belly and looked the young man over. "Kinda small aren't you?"  
  
Ezra pressed his lips together and stood up straighter. He was not small. When his 'new' father grabbed the top of Ezra's head and messed his hair, the boy moved away. Christian didn't seem to notice. Instead he took his bride's hand and escorted her inside the home.  
  
******  
  
Christian Simmons was well known in St. Louis as a respectable businessman. He'd started the banking business as a young man, and had never taken time out of his busy schedule to get married. At sixty years of age he'd finally found the time to enjoy the life he had, and he wanted Maude to be a part of it.  
  
His home was decorated with the finest furniture, tapestries, and artwork. His house was the largest on Washington Street, and it wasn't uncommon for carriages, coaches, and wagons to stop and seek business there. Christian agreed to see all who came to his door, despite the hour. He was a kind man with a very large heart. Until Maude, most of his money was spent on his brother's children.  
  
******  
  
Ezra stepping into the dining room dressed in clean clothes. His mother made sure that he was going to look the part. The table had been set with dishes that shined bright beneath the glow of the candles and fire. The smell of the turkey permeated the room, causing the young boy's stomach to growl. His mother hadn't told him of the extravagances, but this wasn't like home.  
  
"Looks good don't it?" Christian said, slapping the boy on the back.  
  
"Yes, sir," Ezra replied, watching as the kitchen door opened and several servants brought more dishes filled with rolls and potatoes and set them on the table.  
  
"Your mother tells me that you enjoy readin'. Anything particular you're fond of?" Christian took his place at the end of the table and motioned for his stepson to do the same.  
  
"The Canterbury Tales, by Chaucer, and…" he paused unsure of he should continue.  
  
"And…" Christian encouraged, getting impatient with his bride who had yet to come to dinner.  
  
Ezra looked around, as though his answer would get him into trouble. "The Last of the Mohicans," he answered, biting his bottom lip.  
  
Christian laughed: "A boy who likes adventure." His nose seemed to glow and his cheeks turned bright red, almost as though he was running out of air.  
  
Ezra laughed along with him, feeling suddenly comfortable with this individual.  
  
"Maude, my dear, you look lovely," the older man stood up and walked to where his bride stood.  
  
The woman beamed under the attention. "Dinner smells wonderful," she replied, taking her husband's arm allowing him to guide her to the table. She eyed Ezra who was now standing, beside his chair waiting for his mother to take her seat.  
  
"I think I'll take Ezra with me to the bank tomorrow," Christian said, taking his knife and slicing into the turkey. "That way I can start him on his studies before school this fall."  
  
"Sounds splendid," Maude responded, looking lovingly at her son.  
  
"There's plenty to do in St. Louis, and much to learn." Christian slapped a hefty piece of meat on his wife's plate.  
  
Ezra looked at his new stepfather, the man looked like a drawing he'd seen of Santa Clause many years ago. The only things missing from Christian's physique was a long gray beard and a red suit.  
  
******  
  
The streets of St. Louis bustled with activity, people of all ages moved in and out of gift shops and the sound of horses' feet clipping along the cobblestone roads filled the air. Ezra had been to large cities before, but this was different. He wasn't sleeping in hotels, or sitting at the poker tables, learning his father and mother's skill. He didn't know what his mother's plans were, but she seemed to be happy with this man, or at least she acted like it.  
  
The New Cattleman's Bank rested on the corner of Main Street and First. The foyer was filled with red brick and glass that had been decorated with the name of the bank. Ezra followed Christian into the building and watched as employees greeted their boss. The two entered the office in the back, not far from the large vault.  
  
"You know much about figures?" Christian asked, sitting down behind his large oak desk.  
  
"Yes," Ezra replied. One of the first things he'd learned was how to count money to make sure he wasn't getting cheated.  
  
Christian laughed and handed Ezra a large leather bound book. "This is a copy of the records I keep for the bank…why don't you check and make sure they're right." He looked at the boy, knowing he'd have a difficult time, but the way Maude had told it, she'd have him believe her son was a genius. Christian handed Ezra a pencil and the boy moved over to the window and crawled up into the large chair.  
  
Between working the figures in the book on his lap and looking out the window towards the people in the street, Ezra was having a difficult time concentrating. He'd been doing figures since he was four. It was a necessity in life, a skill that he needed to learn early. It wasn't a difficult skill to learn, he'd been reading since he was two, and it was just a matter of learning about numbers, and it was easier when he had the visuals of money to work with.  
  
"How are you coming?" Christian asked, closing his book, and then looking at the clock on his desk. It was lunchtime.  
  
Ezra slipped out of the chair and handed the leather bound text to his stepfather. "I'm finished," he responded, wishing he were home with Benny.  
  
"You're done?" Christian questioned, not believing the boy.  
  
Ezra nodded his head: "Yes, sir."  
  
"Most children wouldn't be able to do such…complicated equations."  
  
"I'm not most children," Ezra responded confidently.  
  
Christian laughed: "No, you're not."  
  
******  
  
Maude's reason for marrying Christian Simmons was for financial gain. She wanted to live in a financially secure setting. She wanted a lifestyle that would allow her to spend money freely, and not have to work honestly for it. Life had dealt her a bad hand, so she was working to correct it. When Christian came into her life, she knew what he had to offer. Plus the fact he was older, meant, that possibly, she wouldn't have to live with him for an extended period of time.  
  
Maude had planned on sending Ezra to the best school in St. Louis. It was a place that would teach him foreign languages, about the arts, and about class. Christian had agreed to send the child, no questions asked.  
  
However, life had a tendency to not move smoothly.  
  
******  
  
Ezra looked at the long sword type weapon he held in his hand. He hadn't changed into the white uniform Christian had given him, simply because he didn't know how. The room he was in had been cleared of all the furniture, the older man was going to show his stepson how to fight with blades.  
  
"You really should change, Ezra," Maude said, sitting next to the window reading her book. She'd promised her husband that she would watch.  
  
"I think I'd rather get stuck," he replied, barely above a whisper.  
  
"Are you ready?" Christian asked, entering the room wearing the white uniform.  
  
Ezra had to turn suddenly, so he wouldn't laugh. The man looked like an egg with a spear. His short legs seemed shorter beneath his hefty weight, and his head seemed to pop up out of the top of his body, like a chick beginning to hatch.  
  
"Are you ready, Ezra?" Christian asked again, moving to the center of the room. He moved his weapon quickly, creating the soft, yet harsh sound of a blade cutting through air.  
  
Ezra turned and tried not to laugh, but after looking at his mother he couldn't contain himself. "I'm sorry," he muttered, moving to the center of the room. He cleared his throat and tried to regain control. But he failed. He grabbed his stomach and bent over, just trying to keep to his feet. The more the man moved around the room the more he looked like an egg rolling on a slick surface. "I…can't…" he continued to laugh.  
  
"What is it?" Christian turned and looked at his wife. His face looked amused.  
  
"I'm sorry, dear, but perhaps, black would be a more suitable color?" Maude chuckled.  
  
Ezra fell to the floor; the image of a human egg rolling around trying to hatch would not leave his sight. He'd never lost control like this before, but he couldn't help himself. He tried to get to his feet but fell back to the floor. He never noticed a very confused Christian or his mother leave the room. He was never going to be able to look at an egg again without seeing his stepfather's head poking out of it.  
  
******  
  
Maude sat with her son in the lawyer's office wearing a black gown and veil. She dabbed her eyes with the white tissue. She clasped onto Ezra's hand for support as Mark Wright read her husband's will.  
  
It had been Maude who had found Christian, slumped over his desk. The doctor had said that Mr. Simmons' heart had gone bad. Just by looking at him nobody would ever guess it. He was always joyous and full of vigor, even Ezra seemed enchanted by his energetic personality. But he was an older man, and time was always short for those that had lived a full life. Maude had known that when she married him.  
  
"I'm sorry, Mrs. Simmons, but there isn't anything here that says you're to acquire any of your husband's estate…"  
  
"Excuse me?" Maude leaned forward, her eyes suddenly dry.  
  
"He made arraignments for me to draw up a new will, but…he never got in to sign it."  
  
"There must be some kind of mistake…"  
  
"No ma'am, there isn't."  
  
"Is there nothing I can do?" Maude tried to maintain her composure, she was a con artist, she could do this.  
  
"However…" the lawyer paused and looked at Ezra, "Mr. Simmons put a small amount of money away for the child…a college fund…if you will."  
  
Maude's eyes perked up and she looked at her son.  
  
Mark grabbed an envelope out of his drawer and handed it to Ezra. "Mr. Simmons brother expects you to be out of the house by tomorrow, if you're not, he'll send someone over to help you." He looked at Maude making sure she understood what he was saying.  
  
"We'll be out by tonight," Maude snapped, getting to her feet and pulling Ezra close behind her.  
  
Once outside the lawyer's office Maude grabbed the envelope from her son's hand. Ezra didn't object, he knew she was upset, and he didn't want to get in her way.  
  
******  
  
At fourteen years of age Ezra was once more on a train to an unknown town. His mother had seen fit to abandon him, once again, to explore some avenues in the lucrative city of Baton Rouge. This wasn't any different than it had been for the last five years. He knew what to expect, his mother's antics weren't a surprise, although he didn't understand her motivation. Ezra missed Georgia, Benny, Cora, and his uncle. He missed the simple life he'd lived there.  
  
And so this was Ezra's life. Moving from one place to another, staying with 'aunts and uncles', more or less people that he didn't know, or had ever heard of. Some of them were tolerable of his presence, and others were more put out. Maude usually returned in a timely fashion, only wanting him to play a part in some new scheme. He was turning out to be quite the actor. Many times his mother's cons required him to perform blind, gifted, or younger than he really was. His youthful appearance and short stature aided in the deceit.  
  
Ezra never attended school, simply because he was never in one place long enough to benefit from the environment. However, many of the people he stayed with saw fit to instruct him in different subject areas. He seemed to excel in all of them. He read at every chance he got, mathematics came as second nature, and he mastered the English language better than most college professors. Even though his hands were small he managed to handle a deck of cards with the skill and ease of a professional. He learned under his mother's keen eye how to spot a marked deck, and a cheat. As the years went by his skill improved…drastically. It had been a friend of his mother's that taught him to fire a weapon, it was something Ezra's father was supposed to show the boy, but he hadn't lived long enough to do so. And just like most things, the youngster had an incredible skill with the firearms, both the pistol and the long rifle.  
  
Because of Ezra's size, he was constantly getting into fights with other boys his age. However, they were twice as big as he was. Black eyes, bloody noses, and bloody lips were not all that uncommon. They were easier to bear than the beatings he'd received from some of his 'relatives'. Plus it always made him feel better when he actually won.  
  
******  
  
When the train pulled into the station, Ezra grabbed his bag and got off. He was meeting someone here, another stranger he was going to live with until his mother saw fit to come get him. People bustled around him, greeting their loved ones, and gathering their luggage. Like all the other train stations he'd been to in his life, this one was no different.  
  
"You Ezra Standish?" A big man asked, his beard and mustache hid his face well.  
  
Ezra looked up with his bag slung over his shoulder. He swallowed hard and shook his head. "No, sir," he responded, and then he slowly walked by. Ezra didn't turn and watch as the man walked around the platform looking for an Ezra Standish, instead, the youth walked up to the ticket counter.  
  
"Where're you goin'?" The ticket agent asked.  
  
Ezra bit his bottom lip: "Savannah, Georgia," he responded softly. He hoped he had enough money, all the cash he had he'd earned playing cards on the train. He hoped it was enough.  
  
"Four dollars and fifteen cents," the agent said, writing up the ticket.  
  
Ezra counted out the cash and slipped in under the glass partition. He took the ticket and held it as though it were gold.  
  
He was going home. 


	2. Southern Cross...2

Chapter 9  
  
January 1861  
  
The plantation looked the same, except the vegetation wasn't green. It wouldn't be until summer, and then it would look grand. Smoke billowed out of the chimneys and the house looked more inviting than ever. Cora's rose garden had been trimmed back, and the fences around the property looked to have been freshly painted. Perhaps things weren't as bad as they had been. The door opened before Ezra could raise his hand and knock.  
  
"Ezra," Cora gasped, trying to hold back the tears of joy that wanted to fall. She didn't give him time to react as she wrapped her loving arms around him. "It's been so long."  
  
Ezra embraced her, feeling as though he were home. Here, waters didn't have to be tested, questions didn't need to be asked or answered, and nobody cared about his past.  
  
"Get inside chil', 'fore you freeze ta death," Cora said, pulling on his coat.  
  
"Well I'll be," Samuel said, noticing his nephew had arrived home. He stepped forward and embraced the young man; Samuel tried not to notice the tension in the boy's shoulders. "Your mother know you're here?" he asked.  
  
"No…she doesn't," Ezra answered honestly.  
  
Samuel nodded and then grabbed his nephew's head and messed his hair. "Lets get you something to eat, looks like you could use it."  
  
******  
  
Ezra looked up when the door to the kitchen opened and in stepped a tall black man. It took the younger man a moment to realize it was Benny. He wasn't short and skinny anymore.  
  
"Ezra?" Benny asked, looking at the younger man sitting at the table.  
  
Ezra nodded, slightly shocked by his friend's appearance.  
  
"I'm so glad to see you," Benny moved over to the table and slapped Ezra on the back. "How long you here for?"  
  
Ezra shrugged: "Not really sure," he responded.  
  
"Hey, look at this," Benny's smiled increased and his white teeth shown bright under the lantern light. He pulled the sleeve of his shirt up to his shoulder and flexed his muscle. "The girls love it," he snorted, pointing to his arm.  
  
"You haven't changed," Ezra said, laughing at his friend's antics.  
  
"You're still as scrawny as ever," Benny replied, sitting down at the table.  
  
Ezra rolled his eyes and took another bite of his sandwich. "Cora said you're working with the horses?"  
  
"Yeah." Benny grabbed a carrot off of Ezra's plate. "Tomorrow you should come out and I'll show you some of the stock…Master Samuel's got some of the best horse flesh in the state. He even gave me one of his geldings…named him Spook."  
  
Ezra chuckled: "Why'd you give him a name like that?"  
  
"Remember that ol' witch that lived out by Hinds pond?" He waited until Ezra nodded. "Well, after that ol' woman died I was out riding back there and that horse I was on spooked right out from under me."  
  
"Hence the name?" Ezra answered for him.  
  
Benny laughed: "Yep."  
  
******  
  
Ezra and Benny slipped their boots off when they entered the house. Both boys could hear men's voices coming from Samuel's study. Everyone from town seemed to be there, and their voices only escalated.  
  
"Who's here, Momma?" Benny asked, sneaking a slice of bread from the counter.  
  
Cora shook her head: "Just 'bout everyone I ever heard of," she replied, taking another loaf out of the oven. "You boys bes' get warm, don't want ya gettin' sick on me." She smiled and motioned for them to leave the room.  
  
Ezra stepped up to the study door and listened to the argument happening inside.  
  
******  
  
"…the Union is fallin' apart," Jim Horn snapped, scratching his graying beard.  
  
"I ain't ready to give away everything I've been working for to those Yankee bastards." Another man yelped. "We're going to war and nothing can change that."  
  
"We all need to calm down," Samuel said, getting to his feet. "South Carolina is already threatening to secede, it's up to the State of Georgia and those like her to keep the Union together."  
  
"What Union, Samuel?" Jack Humphrey questioned his long time friend. "We know that Lincoln's, Secretary of State, 'Mister' Seward, has been lyin' to us. Thinkin' that us Southerner's wouldn't realize that the Union was building up an army…Hell, look at Fort Sumter, they were supposed to have abandoned it weeks ago," he looked around at the men in the room, "but they're building up its forces."  
  
"Jack's right," Senator Terrell said, stepping forward. "The Bill of Rights was signed in Virginia," he paused, making sure his words hit, "Since the signing its integrity has been subdued, subdued by the very men who swear to uphold it. The South as we know it is perishing under the iron hand of the North. We are not only losing our rights as citizens of this great nation, but as inhabitants of this state."  
  
"So what are we going to do?" Jim asked, although he knew the answer.  
  
"Fight," Samuel replied, slumping down into his chair.  
  
The room went quiet as all the men took into consideration the words spoken.  
  
******  
  
Ezra moved away from the door, unsure of what to think. He hadn't been deaf to all the rumors of war he'd heard. These men spoke the truth, things were changing in the South, and they had been for many years. It was going to take more than politicians arguing on Capital Hill to stop the threats.  
  
Much more.  
  
******  
  
When the bullets started flying at Fort Sumter, the Union believed that the Confederacy would crumble, instead it became stronger. Boys from all over the Southern states enlisted, looking for ways to defend their homes, beliefs, and ways of life. They were not going to give up easily. Mothers, daughters, and wives, stood on their porches watching their men march off to war. Pride and hope fueled their beliefs that everyone would return home.  
  
Cora couldn't pack enough food in the small satchels that Ezra and Benny were taking with them. She sighed, trying to hold back the tears. Her boys were leaving for war. That's all they were, boys, Ezra wasn't a day over fifteen and Benny was just a few months away from turning eighteen.  
  
Boys.  
  
Their decision to enlist hadn't been an easy one. But it was Ezra's decision that pushed Benny's. Once the boy learned that his mother was leaving for New York to escape the hostility in the South, without her son, Ezra decided that he'd rather be in the center of the conflict than on the outskirts. Samuel, devastated by the news, did the only thing he could. He gave both boys a horse and rifle. He didn't want them unarmed. The whole situation tore Cora up inside. She'd never wanted to see this day come, never.  
  
"Momma," Benny said, gently taking his mother's hand. "We got to go," he said softly, looking her in the eye.  
  
"I'll be out in a minute," she said confidently, "I's just got a few more apples to stick in for you's lunches."  
  
Benny nodded and headed outside. Spring's early sun was already turning the lush grasses and trees to blossom into their magnificent beauty.  
  
Cora took a deep breath and grabbed both of the bags. She could do this…she had to. When she stepped out onto the porch she could see Samuel offering some last minute advice to his nephew. She smiled, wanting to be brave for her son.  
  
"There's plenty o' food in here's for you boys, an' make sure you's eat." She handed a bag to each of them. Gently she took Ezra's face in her hands and kissed his forehead. "You brin' my boy back to me," she said, letting the tears stream down her cheeks, "promise me." Her eyes spoke volumes, the eyes only a mother would show. She smiled when Ezra nodded.  
  
"I will," Ezra said softly.  
  
Cora turned to her son and wrapped her arms around him. When she released him she tried to straighten up his shirt. Her chin quivered, and her eyes continued to water. "You make me so proud," she said softly, trying to be strong. She stopped suddenly and patted his chest, just over his heart. "You 'member, dis is where your heart is," she looked up into his eyes, "and dis is where it belongs."  
  
"I know, Momma." He knew what she meant. This plantation was his home, it always had been, and it always would be.  
  
Cora shook her head: "You come back to me, ya hear," she cried, reaching up and wrapping her arms around his neck. "I love you boys," she released Benny and looked at Ezra. "Watch out for each other."  
  
"We will, Momma," Benny said, kissing his mother on the cheek.  
  
Cora stepped back, wanting more than anything for her son to tell her he wasn't going. But that wasn't about to happen. She knew that in her heart.  
  
"Come home," Samuel ordered, watching as they each mounted up.  
  
Both boys waved as they trotted their horses down the lane.  
  
Samuel reached over and wrapped his arm around the woman who had been his rock for so long. He knew he couldn't stop the pain Cora was feeling, but he could be there for her, like all the times she'd been there for him.  
  
"They'll come home," he tried to sound confident.  
  
Cora nodded, trying to accept his words.  
  
Samuel embraced her, not worrying about who saw them, not caring at what would happen if someone did.  
  
Chapter 10  
  
Atlanta Georgia  
  
1861  
  
Boys and men from all over the South arrived with only one thing on their minds, stopping the Northern Aggressor. Regiment leaders from Virginia, South Carolina, North Carolina, and Georgia were here looking for men, many were regular army and others were volunteers.  
  
Benny followed Ezra around the camp, the younger boy seemed to know how to handle himself in crowds, and Benny didn't. He didn't like the eyes of soldiers that looked at him, or the questioning glares from folks who weren't enlisting. This wasn't anything like working on the plantation.  
  
"You there," an officer called to them, "what are you lookin' for?" He asked, stepping out from beneath his tent.  
  
"We're here to enlist," Ezra responded confidently.  
  
The officer laughed: "You ain't old enough boy, and niggers ain't allowed."  
  
"I'm sixteen, old enough by most standards," Ezra lied, looking up at Benny, "and the nigger is mine." He could feel Benny's anger before he saw it, but in order to save his life Ezra had to lie.  
  
"I don't believe you're sixteen," the officer replied. "When were you born?"  
  
"1844," Ezra responded, already having done the math.  
  
"I'm Lieutenant Peterson, what's your name?"  
  
"Ezra Standish." Ezra didn't look at Benny's expression.  
  
The lieutenant nodded, trying to decide if this boy was worth adding on. "You can sign here," he responded, showing them toward the tent.  
  
******  
  
Once they were out of sight from the officers, Benny grabbed Ezra's arm and forced him around. "I ain't your nigger," he said sharply, his anger was clearly written on his face.  
  
Ezra looked around, making sure nobody was watching. "This is a different place…" he looked hard at his friend, "we have to look and act like everyone else…otherwise you will end up someone's slave."  
  
Benny nodded and then sighed. "Just so you know, I ain't washin' your clothes."  
  
Ezra smiled, and picked a piece of lint off of Benny's shirt. "You think I'd ask?" He responded with a chuckle.  
  
"Why didn't you give 'im your real name?" Benny asked.  
  
"Didn't want to give them any cause to go lookin' for Uncle Samuel…or Cora."  
  
Benny nodded, not really understanding Ezra's words, but unwilling to question his judgment.  
  
******  
  
History books didn't give accurate depictions of what a battlefield looked, or smelt like. How could it? How could white pages filled with small words describe the smell of men that had been dead for days? It couldn't. This was a war unlike any other. Men, born and raised in the same homes of the same mothers were fighting each other, killing each other, for nothing more than their ideals. Ezra never understood how death could change a man, he'd seen his father killed, but he'd never taken a life…until now. Now, he was firing his weapon at men and boys that could be his family.  
  
The war was changing everyone.  
  
Because the Confederacy didn't have the number of men the Union did, the Southern states saw fit to train their soldiers more efficiently. Men, who were willing, trained in everything. Ezra was willing. He was already skillful with a long rifle, his knack for math made him a perfect candidate for heavy artillery, and his love of horses made him perfect for the Calvary. He was every general's dream soldier, except for the fact he looked so young.  
  
It was highly unusual for a soldier to remain in the same regiment for very long. They were usually transferred, depending on the needs of surrounding companies. Because Benny was Ezra's 'slave', the two of them traveled, and trained together. Most officers didn't think it was unusual, simply for the fact that families who could afford to send a slave with their sons, did.  
  
Ezra never stayed too long in any one camp, until he was transferred to one of General Longstreet's regiments. Benny noticed, but never questioned, the fact that his friend never got close to anyone. The younger boy didn't make friends like most kids his age. Oh, he could walk into any situation and make himself look good, telling stories that stole everyone's attention, did card tricks, and played poker like many of the professionals, but he was missing that bond that many of the other soldiers seemed to have.  
  
Benny never left Ezra's side; he was almost an extra appendage. When Ezra got transferred to the sharpshooter's troop, Benny went with him, aiding him and firing along side him. They were quite the team, brothers without the blood ties.  
  
******  
  
Small fires burned in front of tents containing young Confederate soldiers. The smell of salted pork frying filled the air and the sense of uncertainty embraced those who could bring themselves to celebrate their recent win at Second Manassas.  
  
Ezra looked over at Benny, who seemed content looking up at the sky. A year had passed, and the last battle had given the South the push they needed in order to continue their crusade. They actually had a chance of winning this war.  
  
Ezra flipped the cards through his fingers, watching his precise and graceful movements. His fingers moved like dancers over a well-shined floor. His hands and nails were dirty, callused, and cut, from months of digging, shooting, and clearing debris. The small rectangular objects that moved through his fingers were just as worn. They were the only items that could bring him comfort; his only link to his family…his father, and his link to reality.  
  
The battles were all looking the same, it was hard to tell which ones they'd won, and which ones they'd lost. Time seemed to have disappeared, like an hour that never ended. Days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, and unlike before, there weren't any celebrations breaking the time up.  
  
"Can you read that letter from Momma again?" Benny asked, rolling over onto his side.  
  
"You can read, Benny," Ezra replied, never taking his eyes off his cards.  
  
"I don't make it sound so good."  
  
Ezra chuckled and pulled the letter out of his jacket pocket. Cora's writing wasn't grand, and could hardly be considered legible, but she'd written. Something Maude had yet to do. Ezra read the words with the same care that Cora had written them, and Benny seemed to be calmed by her simple vocabulary.  
  
"She worries too much," Benny said, sitting up.  
  
"She has reason to," Ezra responded.  
  
"What 'bout Maude, where's she at?"  
  
"Last I heard, New York, but," Ezra shrugged his shoulders, "she could be anywhere."  
  
"When I's younger," Benny paused, "I's jealous of you." He forced a smile onto his face.  
  
"Me?" Ezra chuckled, slightly surprised by his friends revelation.  
  
"I remember you was always sick, and you was takin' her time." Benny looked up at the sky and then at his friend.  
  
Ezra nodded in understanding, but kept his eyes focused on his cards. He didn't know, or understand, his friend's feelings. How could he?  
  
"Play ya a game of gin?" Benny offered, realizing his friend was uncomfortable.  
  
Ezra lifted his chin and smiled. "Okay."  
  
******  
  
The air was soon filled with dense smoke as weapons continued to be fired. Bullets pierced the ground, trees, and the water as Union troops tried to cross what had been dubbed 'Burnsides Bridge'. Ezra continued to fire at men he could no longer see. Benny sat just below him behind the wooden barrier, their rifles firing as soon as they were reloaded.  
  
This was Antietam.  
  
Ezra and Benny were just two of Longstreet's 600 sharpshooters firing at the enemy, an enemy that wouldn't stop. Antietam creek was turning red from the blood of Union soldiers trying to cross the divide, and the thirsty ground sucked the life giving force from those who could no longer keep it. Soldiers wearing gray and blue fell together, not caring about their beliefs or differences. Men fought for their lives, while boys lost their innocence.  
  
Bodies of the dead lined the fields like snow on a cold winter's day.  
  
Ezra heard the grunt, but he didn't pay it any mind when Benny continued to fire his weapon. Ezra didn't have time to stop. When the order came to retreat, he crouched down and moved closer to his friend.  
  
"Let's get back," he said, gathering up his supplies. He knew that in order to survive they'd have to get back past the artillerymen; otherwise they'd be killed.  
  
Benny fired his weapon again. "I can't," he replied softly.  
  
Ezra grabbed his friend's jacket and pulled. "Let's go!" He ordered. This wasn't a game.  
  
"I can't!" Benny replied, pulling his hand away from his belly.  
  
"Oh, God," Ezra gasped, seeing the bloodied hand.  
  
"I don't want to die," Benny muttered, looking at his friend.  
  
"You're not going to die," Ezra looked into his friend's eyes, and not giving him a chance to object, Ezra pulled him up and started moving him away from the oncoming fire. "We'll get you to the doctor," he gasped, using all of his strength trying to keep Benny on his feet. Ezra struggled under his friend's weight and size, but his determination won out.  
  
Bodies, rolling terrain, rocky outcroppings, and scattered wooded areas made it more difficult for both men to traverse. Benny weakened quickly, relying on Ezra to keep him moving. His legs became uncooperative, and he stumbled, but Ezra was there to pull him along. Benny's vision blurred, his body shook, and sweat soaked his dirty clothing.  
  
He was dying.  
  
Snavely Ford was a narrow patch of land that was clear of the rough terrain the men were trying to cross. And after hours of being on the move, it seemed to be the best route to take. Others thought the same thing. Wounded Confederates, and Yankees moved through the area searching for help. Fields of corn ready for harvest lined the path, and harbored the cowards and those that were dying within its crowded walls.  
  
"St…stop…" Benny gasped, falling to the ground taking and Ezra with him. "I…I can't," he spit up blood and saliva. His brow was covered in sweat, and his eyes seemed hollow, as the pain slowly consumed him.  
  
"We can't stop here," Ezra said, getting on his feet and trying to pull his friend up by his jacket.  
  
Benny remained where he was, unwilling, and unable to move further. The heat of the sun took all the energy he had left, and he gasped for breath in a chest that refused to take more air. "Pl…please...please stop," he cried, grabbing hold of Ezra's jacket sleeve. Benny was dying…and he knew it.  
  
"You can't do this," Ezra argued, shaking off Benny's arm and once again trying to get him to his feet. "Don't do this," he whispered, and then slumped down by his friend's head.  
  
"You best leave 'im," a confederate soldier said, as he started to walk by. "Could take days for a belly wound to kill 'im."  
  
Ezra watched the soldier as he continued down the path, holding his bloodied left arm. "I'm not leaving you," he said confidently, when Benny's hand squeezed his own. "I won't leave you," he whispered to himself.  
  
Benny rolled onto his side and screamed in pain. "Make it stop," he cried, grasping Ezra's hand forcefully.  
  
Ezra rolled Benny onto his back and gently lifted his shoulders so he could drink from the canteen. "I don't know what to do," he admitted, letting his tears stain his dirt-covered cheeks. He tried to wipe them away, but only left muddied marks on his face.  
  
Benny weakly grasped at the pistol in Ezra's belt. Ever so softly he muttered, "Please." He continued to pull at the weapon he was too weak to hold. "Please," he said again, trying to get his lips to move around words he could hardly say. If he was going to die, he wanted to die on his own terms.  
  
Ezra shook his head and stood back up. "NO!" He snapped, reaching down to once again lift his friend. "I promised I'd get you home." He struggled with his friend's size and weight. When Benny cried out in pain, Ezra stopped and slumped down in defeat. "I can't," he cried, understanding what his friend wanted.  
  
Benny pulled at the weapon Ezra now held in his hand. Tears flowed from both sets of eyes freely, one set pleading for death, the other, pleading for life. "T…take…take my heart home to Momma," Benny asked, through clenched teeth.  
  
Ezra's chin quivered uncontrollably, and he wiped his nose on the sleeve of his jacket. "I can't," he said, looking at the weapon in his hand. "Please don't do this," he pleaded, and then looked up at the soldiers that passed them by.  
  
"Please," Benny's voice was fading, and the pain continued to rack his body. His body that had been so strong, so unwilling to surrender, and so full of life, was now fading. "Please," he pleaded again, as the tremors started to take over.  
  
Ezra looked at the weapon in his hand, and slowly nodded his head. With tears blurring his vision, and lungs that couldn't catch enough breath, he straddled his best friend's waist. The sound of the hammer being cocked back didn't mean anything as Ezra leaned over and grabbed the top of Benny's head, and then he pressed his forehead onto Benny's.  
  
"I love you like a brother," Ezra whispered between gasps of breath. He felt Benny nod his head the sentiments were returned.  
  
"Pl…please," Benny choked, spitting up blood from the wounds on his tongue, his tongue that was being bitten by his own jaws.  
  
Ezra cried: "I…I can't," he gasped, "I can't." His heart burned as though it were lit from the fires of hell.  
  
"Please," Benny whispered past uncooperative lips, "please."  
  
Reluctantly, Ezra nodded and then he carefully positioned the weapon under Benny's chin, and then moved away as he squeezed the trigger. Everything went quiet, as though the world came to a stop. The only sound filling his ears was the beating of his own heart. Ezra released a cry and grabbed the front of his friend's bloodied shirt and rocked back and forth over his body. "I'm sorry," he whispered into ears that could no longer hear, "I'm so sorry."  
  
With newfound determination, Ezra ripped Benny's shirt open, and pulled the long knife from his boot. He'd take Benny's heart home…he had to.  
  
******  
  
Ezra entered the Confederate camp that wasn't far from Sharpsburg. His clothing was stained with the blood of his friend, his brother, his comrade. His face was streaked with tears shed, dirt, and blood. Nobody seemed to notice him; he wasn't the only one suffering. The loss of the battle had insured a somber mood among everyone.  
  
Officers moved around frantically trying to get notes and supplies sent to regiments that needed it. Wounded soldiers cried out in pain as their friends tried to move them toward the medical tents. Guns went off, killing the wounded horses that could no longer support their riders, or themselves.  
  
"Are you wounded?" Captain Miller asked, moving away from the tent where several men had gathered and were now going over maps and other important papers.  
  
Ezra shook his head: "No, sir," he replied softly.  
  
"Standish," Lieutenant Peterson said, stepping up beside Captain Miller. He turned to his superior and started to say something, but the captain's hand stopped him.  
  
"Where's Benny?" The captain asked, already guessing what his response would be.  
  
"Dead, sir." Ezra turned his eyes upward and met the captain's. "I need to take a few days, sir, and go home," his words were soft, and his voice was full of despair.  
  
"You can't," the lieutenant snapped, looking around at the other soldiers in worse shape than the one standing before him, or at least they appeared to be. He returned his gaze to his superior, "You can't let him go because his nigger died."  
  
"As a Southern gentlemen, Lieutenant, it would be in your benefit to understand that all men dying on these once simple fruitful fields deserve the respect they have earned…color is not the dividing character here." His words were strong, and knowing. He met Ezra's eyes, "I grieve with you, son."  
  
Ezra nodded, but didn't say anything.  
  
"I can give you two weeks," the captain said, regaining his composure. He then motioned for Peterson to follow him. "And Corporal Standish, report to me upon your return."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
******  
  
Two weeks was not a lot of time for Ezra to get from Maryland to Savannah and back again. But anything was possible for a man with determination. He sold his horse and bought a ticket on one of the few railroads that were still running through the war torn countryside. He received looks from observers, they didn't have to guess where he'd been…it was obvious. His clothing was still dirty and stained, he didn't have time to change, and he didn't have the money to purchase new attire. His appearance wasn't what he was worried about. His mother would be appalled, but she wasn't here, and she didn't know the circumstances.  
  
Ezra had wrapped Benny's heart in a soft cloth and then placed it in a small tin. He covered it with salt, one of the few things soldiers had that was in abundance, to keep it from going bad. He'd made a promise to Benny and he intended to keep it, at all costs. He wasn't sure if friendship was really worth the pain it caused, not if it involved such…heartache. He couldn't even bring himself to shuffle his cards…it all seemed so menial.  
  
The war had continued for a little over a year, but its devastation was evident all over the South. And it was only going to get worse. Little things were valued now, sewing needles were like the gold found in California, meat, no matter what kind, was worthy of the finest restaurants, and wallpaper became home to the news of war.  
  
Everything was changing.  
  
Gone were the large hats and the fancy clothing of proud Southerner's. Women now were consumed with making bullets out of whatever metal they could find. Slaves were left at home to care for the women and children of the masters who went to war. The proud and noble South was being ripped apart, not only on the battlefields, but in the headlines of the papers up North. Stories of brutality, laziness, and insolence filled the minds of Northern men and women.  
  
Perhaps this is what Maude had been trying to teach him. Nothing could ever be taken for granted. Everything came with a price. And life was only worth what you made out of it. People were merely boxes that needed to be filled, and Maude needed to be filled with money. A child couldn't do it, nor could a husband, but perhaps financial gain could.  
  
Ezra looked up when he felt someone gently touch his shoulder. The woman wore an old dress, but her Southern pride kept a smile on her face, and hope in her heart. She handed Ezra a sandwich. Her gloved hands were scared with holes and stains, but she was lady enough to continue with an honorable tradition.  
  
"You look like you could use this," she said softly.  
  
"Thank you, ma'am."  
  
She smiled: "Thank you," she answered, and then moved down the aisle.  
  
******  
  
Savannah had a spirit that few cities, even Southern cities, had. When Ezra stepped off the train car, he was enveloped with the strong force. Gone were the strong scents of spices and perfumes, but the spirit was still there.  
  
Ezra ignored the looks of those who questioned his appearance, and those who feared the blood that had so boldly stained his clothing. He walked down the street, with one thing on his mind…getting home. With his bag slung over his shoulder he headed down the road that would lead to the plantation.  
  
The warm breeze felt good on his skin, and the sound of the trees gently swaying seemed to be a comfort, but the questions remained. How was he going to tell Cora? What, was he going to tell her? That fire that had started in Ezra's heart hadn't stopped, and it seemed to consume his whole being. Did he do the right thing? Could he have saved Benny, if he'd tried harder? Ezra had seen what a belly wound could do to someone. He'd seen and heard the pain that men went through while suffering from the brutality. That confederate soldier that had told him it could take days for Benny to die wasn't lying, it could take days, and those days would be long and without mercy. Was that what he'd done? Shown his best friend a merciful end, or taken his life because it was easier? These were simply questions he didn't know the answer to, questions that would never be answered.  
  
******  
  
Cora stood up from her garden and stretched her back. At thirty-six years of age she was already feeling the tightness in her bones. But she was thankful for it, it pulled her mind away from the hollow feeling in her stomach. She wiped her brow free of the sweat that had gathered there and looked up into the blue sky. The sound of birds singing filled the air, reminding her of a simpler time. She retied the bandana that she'd had around her hair and looked up the road, wishing her son were coming home, wishing both her 'boys' would come home. Quickly, she turned back to her garden and then stopped, as though a voice was telling her to.  
  
She walked to the gate as though an angel were leading her, not understanding why, but knowing she needed to go there. When she saw the lone figure walking towards her, all the blood drained from her face. She knew. Her heart constricted, and her lungs clenched in search for air. She remained frozen in place, as though her feet had suddenly grown roots.  
  
Cora knew it was Ezra, even before she saw his face. He'd grown, and he was still thin, but his walk was just the same. However, it wasn't difficult to tell that the weight of the world rested on his shoulders.  
  
Benny wasn't with him.  
  
Cora looked past Ezra, praying that her only child was following at a distance. Hoping that he was there, but knowing he wasn't. Tears sprang to her eyes when she saw the blood on Ezra's clothing. He hadn't even had the opportunity to change.  
  
"God, no," Cora pleaded, when Ezra stopped in front of her. She grabbed the fence for support, not wanting to fall.  
  
Ezra reached out to support her, but she shoved his hand away. He took a step back, unsure of what to do. "I'm sorry, Cora," he whispered. Reluctantly, he tried to hand her the tin box. "He didn't know what hit him," he lied, wanting only to comfort her.  
  
"No," Cora snapped, refusing to take the box. "No," she said again, stepping backwards. She clenched her fist and held it over her chest. "Please, God, no," she cried.  
  
Her son was dead.  
  
"He saved my life," Ezra said softly, not understanding her hesitance. He took a step forward and pushed the tin toward her.  
  
"NO!" Cora snapped in anger, she slapped Ezra across the face, and then stopped suddenly, as though everything unexpectedly became clear. Slowly, she reached up and took the tin, tears running down her cheeks. She knew what was inside it. She didn't need to be told. Cora wrapped her arms around the cold metal container that held her son's heart.  
  
Her son was dead.  
  
Ezra looked at her, watching her grief, and not knowing how much the pain of her loss hurt. He rubbed his eyes, eyes that were now dry of so many tears shed. He looked up when he saw his uncle come rushing towards them from the house. Concern was etched on his face; it was understandable as to why.  
  
"Ezra," Samuel gasped, grabbing hold of Cora's shoulders in support. "Benny?" He asked, looking at his nephew, and sighed when Ezra nodded his head. "Come to the house," he said softly, gently guiding the mother of the child he could never claim.  
  
Their son was gone.  
  
Ezra watched them walk away, suddenly feeling as though he didn't belong. He looked around the plantation, at the house he'd played in, been born in, and wanted so much to call home. But he couldn't, not anymore…not after what he'd done. Reluctantly, he turned around and headed back to the train station. He needed to get back to the war…he needed to forget.  
  
******  
  
"Where's Ezra?" Cora asked, looking around the small gravesite.  
  
Samuel shook his head: "He, ah…left," he responded sadly, feeling guilty for not having forced the youth to stay.  
  
"What?" Cora turned and looked at him, not quite believing what he'd said. She turned and felt Samuel grab her arm.  
  
"He's gone, Cora."  
  
"Dear God, what 'ave I done?" She cried, covering her mouth with her hand. "What 'ave I done?" She let her tears fall.  
  
Chapter 11  
  
When Ezra reported back to Captain Miller the youth wasn't expecting a promotion. But he got one, as well as a small unit of men. The captain had said it was because of his skill as a soldier, but Ezra thought it had to do with something else.  
  
Because of his smaller size and youthful age, he could sneak across enemy lines easier than most. The South was in desperate need of medical supplies, mostly ether. The anesthesia was difficult to come by but most Union field hospitals had it in abundance, and therefore they became targets.  
  
Dressed in rags, covered in dirt, and looking more like a farmer than he'd ever imagined he could, Ezra walked through the dense trees and bushes. He didn't look a day over fourteen, and most who saw him didn't pay him any mind. He discovered the easiest time to sneak into the medical tents was right after a battle. Most doctors were out aiding the wounded and therefore most supplies were left unattended.  
  
Ezra hid the small bottles of ether in dolls that the Confederacy made special for just occasions. Nobody thought to look in a children's toy. The ploy worked exceptionally well, until his five foot five inch frame sprouted to five foot ten inches in the course of a year. No longer was he the youthful boy he once was. Now, he was tall, and filling out, becoming the handsome man his father had been.  
  
As the war continued to rage, Ezra was transferred to heavy artillery, and along with that transfer came another promotion. His skill with his men and ability to 'know' what was going to happen before it happened made him the perfect candidate for a position as an officer. And he took that position with pride. All soldiers accepted him, despite his age. He wasn't the only one of extreme youth to be placed in a situation of control. With the dwindling amount of able-bodied Southerner's it became necessary for boys to become leaders, and most took that responsibility seriously.  
  
******  
  
The sound of cannons roaring still rang in Ezra's ears, and the smell of the battlefield continued its hold in his nose. They had won Fredericksburg, at the cost of 5,300 confederate soldiers, but it was worthy of their loss. The Union had suffered greatly, losing more than 12,500 men. The sight had been horrid, but like so many others, it blended into the memories of a sixteen-year-old boy.  
  
"I call," Al Dalton said, tossing in his coins. His dirty fingers clenched the cards tightly.  
  
"Ya can't call, it ain't your turn," John Carpenter replied, slapping his friend on the back.  
  
"It's his turn now," Ezra replied, placing his bet.  
  
"I call," Al said again, replacing his coins.  
  
"What are you gonna do after the war?" John asked, placing his bet.  
  
"Ma's workin' the farm alone, figure I'd get home and find me a good woman and take it over," Al replied, lying his cards face down on the table. He sighed when he noticed Ezra lay his full house down, and then he took the pot. "One of these days I'm gonna figure out how you do that."  
  
"Not unless your aptitude for cards drastically improves," Ezra replied with a grin, and then piled his winnings on the edge of the small log they were playing on.  
  
Al sighed, and then looked at all the men surrounding them. Many were playing cards like they were, and others were writing letters, and some just stared out at the night sky. "How many men 'ave you killed?" He asked, looking at Ezra. Of the three of them, Ezra was the one who'd been fighting the longest.  
  
"What kind'a question's that?" John snapped, picking up the cards that were dealt to him.  
  
"One that needs answered," Al defended, picking up his hand. "So, Ezra, how many men 'ave ya killed?"  
  
"Too many," Ezra replied softly, unwilling to further explain. "Are you going to play, or talk?"  
  
"Hell, Standish, you already 'ave most of my money," John sighed, tossing his cards.  
  
"I take it you're quitting," Ezra chuckled, picking up the abandoned items.  
  
"I want ta go home," Al said softly, more to himself than anyone around.  
  
"We all want to go home," John quipped, making light of Al's comment.  
  
Ezra glanced in Al's direction before returning his attention to his cards.  
  
"No," Al sighed, "I don't think I'm goin' to make it." His voice was soft and almost inaudible…almost.  
  
******  
  
When the 5th of May 1864 arrived, eighteen-year-old Captain Standish held firm his position on Hamiltons Thicket. The Wilderness. The trees and underbrush grew so closely together that squirrels would have a difficult time traversing the terrain. Even the undergrowth became a hindrance as men got their feet stuck in upturned roots and dead trees.  
  
The smoke of cannons and guns filled the air creating a heavy fog over the dense forest. Ezra ordered his men to continue firing. The horses they sat astride stood their ground, and waited patiently as paths were cut into the wilderness.  
  
Like so many battles before, this one wasn't any different. Except now, men were dying slowly by the fires that burned unmercifully throughout the battlefield. Doctors and other soldiers couldn't get out to their friends and comrades. Even through the night the sound of weapons firing and the cracking of fires burning filled the ears of every soldier fighting.  
  
Lee's idea had been grand, but the Union wasn't as willing to quit as the Confederacy had predicted. The Wilderness was supposed to put a stop to Grant's push frontward, but it didn't. Instead, the Union army pushed forward with their unwillingness to give up.  
  
******  
  
Ezra watched as men rushed around the battlefield trying to fight the enemy while officers gathered behind them, trying to come up with stronger plans to stop the Union. Hesitantly, he stepped up to the tent, his tattered uniform covered in dirt and sweat. The determination in his eyes let everyone know he needed answers. His men were dying, and he wanted it stopped.  
  
General Longstreet had sent some of his men north, to help General Hill. The action resulted in weakening the hold Ezra and his men had, allowing US General Hancock to push them back.  
  
"We need those men here!" Cornel Webber yelled, pointing to the position on the map.  
  
"Where do you anticipate finding those men?" Cornel Stevens snapped.  
  
Both men looked hard at each other and sighed when they realized they weren't the only ones in need. Cornel Webber stood up straight and looked at the young captain that entered the tent.  
  
"How long do we have?" Webber asked, looking around at his fellow officers.  
  
"We need to send support to the southern lines…" A lieutenant started to say.  
  
"Is this true?" General Longstreet asked, looking in Ezra's direction.  
  
"Yes, sir," Ezra answered, stepping forward.  
  
"We can't afford to lose General Lee's right flank," the general replied, and then he looked down at the map before him. "Any suggestions?" He looked around the table at his most trusted officers.  
  
"Send reinforcements to the right, and pray that Johnston and Gordon arrive before Sedgwick can take the left flank." Stevens replied, taking a long drink from his coffee cup.  
  
"That's not the plan I was looking for," Longstreet replied bitterly.  
  
Ezra cleared his throat and pointed to the writings on the map. "If you send my men and I further around the right flank we can support General Hill's front," he moved his finger along his plans, "and then we can cut Hancock's regiment in half…and push back Burnside."  
  
General Longstreet scratched his chin and looked up at his men. "Do it," he ordered, looking at Ezra. "Kandice," he yelled, "get me my horse." He watched as one of his captains quickly left the room, and another officer left to retrieve his mount. "The rest of you get back to your positions…and win this damn thing!"  
  
******  
  
Ezra and his men moved through the trees and weeded overgrowth firing at anything that moved before them. The reinforcements to Lee's far right flank arrived just in time as Hancock's men started to take over the Confederate lines. However, Ezra's plan and Longstreet's orders were working, Hancock was being forced back, they were on the run.  
  
The smell of burning flesh filled the air, causing horses to stall, and men to fall ill. Shots rang out, and the bullets landed in the trees, dirt, and some unfortunate souls. However, the push forward by the Confederate troops was working, and Hancock and Burnside were suffering the consequences. Ezra and his men were able to split up the Union troops, making their forces weaker and less efficient.  
  
At the cost of 10,000 men the Confederacy won the battle, but the North was winning the war.  
  
******  
  
When the news came of Robert E. Lee's surrender at Appomattox, the hopes and dreams of Southern soldiers were crushed. After four years of combating the Northern Aggressor on battlefields where the Confederates were fighting three to one, it was now over.  
  
They had lost.  
  
It wasn't just losing the war that caused so many Southern men and women to feel animosity towards the Union, but the fact so many rumors and stories had been built up against them. Things that weren't true were taken as gospel in the North, and history was being written by these lies.  
  
Ezra flipped his cards between his fingers, and thought about reading the letter his mother had sent him four months prior. Four months ago he knew what he was going to be doing, where he was going, and who he was fighting. Four months ago he didn't need to read the letter, although, he kept it close. Now, however, he didn't know where his future was leading.  
  
The last four years of his life he wanted to forget. But mostly, he wanted to forget that dreadful day at Antietam…but he couldn't. He'd killed his best friend, taken his life, ripped him from his mother's embrace. How could he have expected Cora to forgive him, when he couldn't forgive himself. He'd tried to put it behind him, but everywhere he went, and everyone he saw, reminded him, in some way of Benny.  
  
Chapter 12  
  
It had been over four years since Maude had seen Ezra, and when he stepped out of the train car it took her a moment to realize it was her son, and not an image of Preston. Her son looked more like his father than she ever expected he would. Granted, at nineteen years of age he still hadn't filled out completely, but he'd gotten taller than she ever could have expected.  
  
Maude knew she hadn't been the best mother in world, but she also knew that one of the reasons her son was still alive was because of her independence. Ezra had learned from her, and had taken what she'd taught him to heart. When she received his first letter, telling her about Benny's death, it took her a year to respond. Friends were a handicap, they caused more pain than they were worth, and for the most part they always took advantage of any given situation. She wrote him back telling him so. He hadn't explained how he died, only that his death was…unexpected. Benny was a good boy with a good heart, but he wasn't what her son needed.  
  
"My darlin' boy," Maude gasped, and then kissed her son on the cheek.  
  
"Mother," Ezra responded.  
  
Maude took a step back and looked her son over. "First thing we need to do is get you something decent to ware, this…" she pulled at his jacket, "will not do."  
  
Ezra held out his arm and his mother took it. She hadn't changed. "Where's your newest companion?"  
  
"Mr. Crass was just that, crass, and we divorced a few months ago."  
  
"Divorce?" Ezra questioned, slightly surprised by her statement.  
  
"Don't sound so astonished," she nodded at a handsome man that walked by, "the judge that signed the papers was quite modern, and thankfully, he saw my reasoning's as very palpable…"  
  
"Of course."  
  
Maude sighed and then changed the subject. "You'll have to read some of these Yankee papers," she laughed, "they'd have us believing that Southerner's are monsters with human features. Some of the stories are just horrendous, and utterly disgraceful."  
  
"And your reason for telling me this?" Ezra wasn't blind to her escapades.  
  
"Use it to our benefit…just like everything else." She stepped down the boardwalk and with her son by her side, and then they walked into the tailor's shop. "So, my suggestion to you is…don't let anyone know you fought in that dreadful war." She smiled at the tailor, who let them know that he would be with them momentarily. "That's why, darlin', it's so important to have an untarnished name," she said with a smile. "Now, lets spend some money so we can make some money."  
  
******  
  
New York was short lived for Maude and Ezra who quickly found it necessary to head south for a while. Not the war torn South, but rather, to the lucrative businesses of riverboat gambling. The war hadn't done away with all of the young gamblers in the world, nor had it quenched people's desire to make money. Everyone had to learn a living…somehow.  
  
There weren't many boats on the river. Many had lost their funding over the last four years. It was only those with the well-known names and reputations that had stayed in business. People from all over the world would come to these small moving islands. Many just to see the river, and others to play the game they'd devoted their lives to. Ezra soon found himself embraced by the establishment. All the cultures, languages, and lifestyles fed his imagination. He liked playing poker with men that had wonderful stories to tell about their homeland. He also improved his ability to read people. Ever since he was a child the talent came easy for him. His father had taught him well. However, here, he learned more about his opponents and their tells than he could have ever imagined. Unlike the saloons he'd been raised in, people didn't come here just to drink or play a friendly game of poker. They came here with one intention, to play, and to play well.  
  
Poker tournaments last for days, not hours, and nights were nonexistent. Nobody cared to look at their watches, and nobody dared get caught cheating, that was a sure way to earn a free swimming lesson. However, cheaters quickly learned how to improve their skills…in all abilities. Ezra wasn't any different. Just by watching he learned trick after trick, memorizing it and improving it, making it his own. Half the fun of poker wasn't necessarily the game itself, but those playing it. It was challenging, learning every facial muscle, every ear twitch, every blink of an eye, and even a smile. Everything about a person that Ezra needed to know was in the face, particularly the eyes, every emotion could be read there…good and bad.  
  
******  
  
Ezra had his moments when he could look sixteen and then blink his eyes and look five years older. It wasn't a gift by any means, but rather a curse. The war had changed him…Benny had changed him. Staying up late playing games of poker meant avoiding sleep, because sleep brought with it unwanted dreams and nightmares. The war was over, but not for those who fought in it, and not for those who killed. Four long years of brutality, death, and blood had taken its toll. How could it not?  
  
Poker was an escape route. It was a game of intense skill, thought, and precision. In order to play it, and win at it, every sense and attention had to be paid to it. The cards they were dealt didn't create winners and losers; they were created by the way they were played. And Ezra played well…very well. The more challenging the game the more fun he had. He didn't cheat, unless he had to, and it was usually another cheater at the table that brought on the slight of hand movements. Accusing someone of playing dishonestly was a sure way of getting killed, so the best remedy was to out cheat the cheater. Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.  
  
This was his life.  
  
Moving from one place to another didn't bother Ezra as much as someone might think. He enjoyed the new territories. One week he was in a fabulous saloon with a beautiful woman on his arm and the next week he was in Chicago, pulling a con with his mother. His name changed from Standish to Smith to Harper…depending on his location.  
  
******  
  
"So, where are you goin' after this?" the young woman asked, tracing the muscle pattern on Ezra's bare chest with her finger. She moved slightly and the bed squeaked, causing her to giggle.  
  
Ezra smiled and ran his fingers through Rachel's light brown hair. "Does it matter?"  
  
"You realize that is the third time you've answered a question with a question, don't you?" She cocked an eyebrow, resting her chin on his chest.  
  
"I figure after your mother finds out what we've done I'd better make my appearances minimal." He smiled, revealing dimpled cheeks and mischievous eyes.  
  
"Don't flatter yourself," Rachel said, sitting up on the edge of the bed, "you're not my first." She let her long hair fall over her shoulders.  
  
"I'm stunned, shocked…overwhelmed," he joked, sitting up against the headboard of his bed. "I do hope you don't intend to wear white at your weddin'."  
  
Rachel threw a pillow at him: "I do intend to wear white." She laughed. "Momma says she wants one of these rich bankers that come on board all the time to marry me…they're so…soft." She crawled back up into the bed and rested her head on Ezra's shoulder. "I don't want to get married," she said flatly.  
  
"Why?" Ezra asked, slightly surprised by her sudden change of demeanor.  
  
"Lincoln may have freed the slaves, but he didn't do shit for women."  
  
"So why are you lyin' in a bed with a Southern cuss?" he asked softly, all the while stroking her hair.  
  
Rachel smiled, looking up into her bed partner's eyes. "I like sex."  
  
"Well," Ezra sighed, "I can't argue with that."  
  
"Momma said that the first time she did it with her first husband, she didn't know what to expect," her eyes smiled bright during the story, "so she laid newspaper on the bed and hid a twitch under her pillow."  
  
Ezra laughed and the muscles on his stomach quivered. "I have a hard time seein' your mother in that particular light."  
  
"Momma is full of surprises."  
  
"That, my dear, is an understatement."  
  
Rachel smiled and slowly slid her soft fingers over Ezra's stomach. "It's a good thing I don't take after her," she said softly, pressing her lips to his.  
  
"Absolutely," Ezra muttered, wrapping his arms around Rachel's tiny waist.  
  
*******  
  
When Ezra stepped off the 'Blue Rose' riverboat, he never dreamed it would be his last. He tipped his hat to Miss Betty Kramer, Rachel's mother. She winked at Ezra and sent him a kiss, and then turned her attention to someone new. Ezra watched as Rachel waved goodbye to him, and suddenly laugh before turning to move back inside the large gambling hall. He wasn't bothered by it, it was part of the lifestyle he'd 'chosen' to live by.  
  
The town of Shaw was located on the west bank of the Mississippi River. It served more for settlers moving west. Horses, wagons, a blacksmith, and general store, filled the muddy streets while street vendors tried to sell their homemade items. Everyone needed money.  
  
Maude would call this place 'ripe for the taking' but Ezra saw it only as a temporary stop along his way. He was going to San Francisco. There, he intended to buy his own saloon with the finest alcohol, and the best gambling.  
  
"If you's headin' West, boy, you best buy up some supplies," a street vender yelled, holding up a woven blanket. His toothless grin scared the little children that were new to the area, and his steely eyes terrified the young women that were looking for a new life.  
  
Ezra ignored him.  
  
"How's about some of Momma's Elixir, proven to cure all ailments, and remove any stain?"  
  
Ezra shook his head and moved passed the man holding up the small glass jars. He was only here for the night, and then he was heading out. Ezra stopped suddenly when a young woman wearing a blue dress stepped out of the General Store in front of him.  
  
"I'm sorry," she said softly, trying to gather up her collection of items that had fallen. "I didn't mean to…"  
  
"No apology necessary," Ezra replied, picking up a bag that she'd dropped. "Would you like some help?" he offered, with a dimpled smile.  
  
"That would be most appreciated." She sighed, and pushed some of her items into his arms. "My name's Mary O'Brien."  
  
"Ezra Standish."  
  
The woman nodded and walked confidently down the tattered boardwalk. "My fiancé thought it would be best if I moved west after he did, that way he could get everything settled." She laughed. "We're getting married as soon as I arrive in Portland."  
  
"You're traveling alone?" Ezra asked, slightly surprised.  
  
"No, my brother, Ephraim is traveling with me. I would imagine, that, at this very moment, he's trying to sell my father's horse," she laughed, as though this was a joke Ezra was in on.  
  
"I'm sorry?"  
  
"Oh," she laughed again, and her whole face lit up. "I'm so sorry…you see, my father died six months ago, and he raised thoroughbreds. However, on his deathbed, he made Ephraim swear that he'd never sell Double Trouble, his prized three year old colt out of the mare Datmia…"  
  
Ezra nodded, as though he understood where this woman was going with her story.  
  
"…needless to say, Double Trouble, or Trouble as we like to call him, is a little on the temperamental side," she laughed again, "Ephraim want's to sell him, but I can't seem to bring myself to do it…unless I were to find someone worthy." She smiled to herself.  
  
"Have you had any offers?"  
  
"No," Mary shook her head. "Most people aren't willing to spend the amount of time a horse like Trouble needs, despite his breeding."  
  
"What do you plan to do with the animal?"  
  
Mary's face fell for a moment and she sighed: "You wouldn't happen to be looking for a horse at the moment, Mr. Standish?" It was in her voice, the sadness of the idea of selling the animal Ezra had yet to see.  
  
"Matter of fact, I am."  
  
Mary laughed: "You're extremely kind to offer…"  
  
"Really, Miss O'Brien, I am."  
  
The woman stopped in the middle of the boardwalk and looked hard at the man carrying some of her purchases. "In that case," she said with a smile, "follow me."  
  
******  
  
The large chestnut reared up and kicked out, not to be mean, but out of fun. His ears perched forward on his head and his kind eye told Ezra just that. However, the animal's handler thought differently.  
  
"I've had it, Mary!" Ephraim yelled, releasing the lead rope, letting the big horse run around the arena. "If we can't sell him, we'll have to shoot him. He's too much trouble and we'll never get him on a train," he pleaded, hoping his sister understood.  
  
"Ephraim," Mary announced, "this is Mr. Standish, and he's here to take a look at Trouble."  
  
"You know much about horses, Mr. Standish?" Ephraim rested his arms over the corral fence.  
  
"Enough," Ezra answered honestly.  
  
"What kind of a horse you looking for?"  
  
"Something with adequate speed," Ezra replied with a grin. "He broke?" He pointed to Trouble.  
  
"That depends on who you ask," Ephraim chuckled, "the horse or me."  
  
Ezra laughed, he'd been around horses long enough to know what that meant. Slowly, he crawled through the slats in the fence and made his way toward the large beast. Trouble snorted and tossed his head around, the rope flung in the air with every movement he took. He watched as the strange man stuck his hand out. He snorted again and stepped forward, more than willing to meet someone new.  
  
"He's definitely got the speed you're lookin' for," Ephraim said. "However, controlling that speed is a different story."  
  
Ezra laughed: "I take it you're not a gambler, Mr. O'Brien?"  
  
Ephraim laughed, he understood Ezra's meaning. "No, but I'd be willin' to wager that you are."  
  
Ezra nodded: "How much to acquire this animal?" he asked, rubbing his hand over the horse's lean neck.  
  
Ephraim shook his head: "Way I see it…you reimburse me for all the trouble he's caused, that should cover it."  
  
"Sounds like I own a horse." Ezra chuckled when his new equine pushed his head into him.  
  
"He seems to like you," Mary said with a smile. It wasn't easy for her to watch as her father's horse was sold, but she knew that animal wouldn't make it to Oregon with them.  
  
"Mary's dream is to raise thoroughbreds with her fiancé, after they marry." He pointed to the four horses that were tied to the hitching post outside the barn. "I wish Trouble could have been a part of that, but I'm afraid he needs more attention than I can give him for the time being."  
  
"I wish you luck," Ezra said, admiring the horseflesh. "I hear the road north is a treacherous one." He reached into his pocket book and handed the payment for the animal to Ephraim.  
  
"Ephraim will get us there," Mary said with a confident smile. Her long auburn hair glistened in the sunlight.  
  
Ezra nodded and shook Ephraim's hand. "Thank you for the pleasure." He motioned with his hand to the horse attached to the lead rope.  
  
"I hope he works out for you," Ephraim responded.  
  
Ezra tipped his hat in Mary's direction and led his new horse through the front gate. He had a saddle to purchase, and supplies to stock.  
  
******  
  
Double Trouble knew more about knots than Ezra did. The horse could untie himself from whatever hitching post he was attached to. While Ezra was inside the store, Trouble went for a short exploration, just wanting to welcome the new horses into town. When he discovered the apple stand at the general store all hell broke loose.  
  
Trouble dug his nose into the lush red pile of sweet smelling apples, and the thin legs that the stand was being held up by, broke, and crashed to the floor. People jumped back as small red fruit rolled down the boardwalk, into the stores, and onto the muddied ground. Trouble stood glued to his place, munching contently on his discovery. The storeowner came rushing out of his establishment waving his broom. The big horse stuck his tail in the air and grabbed one last apple before being chased down the street.  
  
Ezra exited the saddle shop with his newly purchased tack weighing heavily on his arm. He shook his head when he saw his horse trotting down the street looking like a kid who'd just played the world's greatest prank. Ezra debated claiming the animal as his own.  
  
"Trouble!" Ezra yelled, and then whistled sharply.  
  
The big horse stopped, as though he'd been caught with his nose in a feedbag. White foam from the apples he'd eaten gathered at his lips, and spittle had landed on his chest and legs. He lowered his head and cocked his hind foot. He knew he was in trouble.  
  
Ezra walked up to his horse, slightly surprised the animal had stopped and acted in the manner he had. There wasn't any doubt that Trouble was a smart horse…no doubt at all. Ezra grabbed the lead rope and led his horse to the stables. If the animal couldn't be tied, then he'd be stabled, until his training could begin.  
  
*******  
  
As usual, morning arrived too early. While the sun pried its way in through the rustic curtains, Ezra tried to ignore it. It wasn't working. Today was the day he was heading up north to meet up with his mother again. Her last conquest hadn't worked out like she'd planned, so she'd notified her son. And Ezra, always searching for her approval, agreed to join her.  
  
He rolled out of bed and ran his hands over his face. He needed to get going. He could hear a commotion down on the street and he quietly wondered what was going on. Hopefully his new horse hadn't gotten out and decided to rampage through town. Ezra chuckled to himself. The animal was bored not aggressive or unruly, he just needed more to do, and Ezra had a lot of tricks to teach him.  
  
*******  
  
"That poor child's been murdered," an elderly woman gasped, standing with three of her friends. Together they stood on the boardwalk a short distance away from an alley that was now crowded with people. "Just a young thing, couldn't be over seventeen."  
  
"She and her brother arrived here two days ago," another woman spoke up, "they were going west together."  
  
"A murder in Shaw…I can't believe it."  
  
Ezra furrowed his brow listening to the whispers and watching the people he past down the boardwalk.  
  
"Closest lawman 'round these parts is Sheriff Burger in Jonestown," Mark Sands, the storeowner, replied.  
  
"Mary!" Ephraim yelled, rushing for the crowd from within the livery. Someone had told him that his sister was the victim. "Mary!"  
  
Ezra forced himself through the commotion trying to see what had actually happened. He could see Ephraim shoving, and pushing people aside trying to get to his sister…or what he thought was his sister. The sound of voices echoing through the air caused confusion, fear, and uncertainty. Women cried, and men stood protectively around the form that lay motionless on the dirty ground. Ezra paused when he saw the sight. Ephraim cried out when he realized it was, in deed, his sister.  
  
Mary had been murdered.  
  
The sight had caused even the hardest of men to turn their eyes. Fathers rushed their daughters away, husbands comforted their wives, and brothers grew angry at the injustice. Ezra's stomach turned and he had to spin his head from the view. Blood had soaked through the blue dress Mary had been wearing the day before. Her face had been battered, her bodice ripped…she'd been raped.  
  
Death happened all the time, and for most people, it wasn't a strange occurrence. Death wasn't avoidable, but when it occurred unnaturally it affected everyone differently, particularly when it happened to someone so innocent. Anyone that could take a life in such a manner wasn't human. How could they be? To take a life of someone so defenseless, so willing to brutalize, and so unnaturally spiteful, wasn't even conceivable to those witnessing the killers accomplishment.  
  
Two men moved in beside Mary, and with Ephraim's approval, they carefully placed her on a flat board, covered her in a blanket and moved her toward the undertakers. Her muddied dress hung towards the ground, and like a ghost waving goodbye, her delicate hand fell from its place on the board. Ephraim continued to sit on the ground, unable to move. It wasn't supposed to happen this way.  
  
Ezra sighed, and tried to take a deep breath. Perhaps the old witch that lived behind his uncle's plantation had been right. Perhaps Death did walk close to him.  
  
******  
  
Ezra knew that women weren't the epitome of everything that was good. But they were the gentle souls that men cried out for while they lay dying. Who did Mary cry for? Such brutality wasn't deserving of such a person. Nobody deserved the fate she had received.  
  
How could such a monster walk around and not be noticed?  
  
There wasn't much of an investigation. A few questions had been asked, but nothing ever surfaced about the killer. Ephraim was outraged. He wanted the fiend that had done this, but like the mayor of the town had said, the murderer was probably gone.  
  
Ezra saddled his new mount. He was hesitant to leave, while at the same time he couldn't move fast enough. Trouble tossed his head, eager to get going as well. He nickered softly when the barn doors opened and Ephraim walked in carrying his belongings.  
  
"Thank you," Ephraim said, and then pulled his four horses from their stalls, "for finding the preacher that said those nice things over Mary's grave."  
  
"It was the least I could do," Ezra responded softly. He wished he could do more. "What are your intentions?"  
  
"Mary had a dream to start a horse ranch in Oregon…I figure I'll see that it gets done."  
  
"You have my sincerest condolences," Ezra said softly, stepping forward. "Your sister seemed to be a very exquisite person."  
  
"She was."  
  
Ezra nodded and then tipped his hat before leaving the barn. Trouble followed close behind him, ready to leave and discover new exciting things. His ears perked forward and his eyes grew wide. He was unaware of the tragedy that had occurred. Ezra slipped into his saddle and took one last look around the town before gently nudging Trouble's sides. The animal seemed to know his new master's thoughts, and like a child yearning to please, he took each step carefully. His long strides were a comfort to the man aboard.  
  
It was the least Trouble could do.  
  
Chapter 13  
  
April 1873  
  
Over the past few years Ezra learned that he didn't like pulling cons. However, Maude thought differently. Whether it was the cotton gin investment, falsifying land deeds, or preaching the gospel with 'unreligious' intentions, cons always seemed to be the easy way out. It wasn't necessarily the lying, or the taking of someone's money that bothered Ezra so much. It was, however, the false pride he felt after the swindle was over. Maude 'pretended' to tell him how proud she was of him. But it was only after these cons were pulled that she would tell him such things. And deep in his heart he wanted his mother's approval, he wanted it more than anything.  
  
Maude never took the time to think about anything other than her next move. Like a chess champion, every move was calculated, methodical, and entrusted only to her. Her mind wasn't centered around her son's feelings or thoughts, not that she didn't know he had any, but rather, they were a handicap that needed to be ignored.  
  
******  
  
The stagecoach rocked back and forth as the wheels seemed to find every hole and crevasse in the road. A dull wind had picked up and Maude did her best not to be bothered by it. Cards flew through her fingers as she watched her son sleep in the seat across from hers. She could hear the sound of the horses' feet striking the road as they headed for their destination.  
  
Ezra's head lolled to the side, jarring him awake. He rubbed his eyes and stifled a yawn. "What?" he asked, meeting his mother's eyes.  
  
Maude smiled before turning her attention back to the cards that soared through her fingers. "You look like your father." She sighed, realizing how much her son had matured in the last few years. No longer gangly and thin, he'd filled out, taking on the appearance of a man. She wasn't going to tell him the things a mother would normally say to their son. She wouldn't tell him that she'd been jealous of Cora and his relationship, or that she'd been terrified that he was going to die after he'd been born. These things would make him weak, and weakness could get him killed.  
  
Ezra nodded, but didn't say anything as he returned his gaze out the window of the coach.  
  
"What are your plans?" Maude asked, knowing he had no intention of going with her to New Orleans, and she'd learn long ago that there wasn't a point in arguing with him. He was as stubborn as his father.  
  
"There's a game in Topeka, I'd like to attend."  
  
"I do hope you intend to do something more…"  
  
"Some of the best players are going to be there, and…"  
  
"I wasn't discounting you intentions, but I think it's important to realize that there are bigger things to accomplish." Maude shook her head, knowingly.  
  
Ezra fingered the curtain that was blocking out the sun. He wondered how his horse was doing, having taken the place of the left rear coach horse. For some reason, Trouble had taken the place of a close friend. Trouble didn't care what Ezra did or said, and the only rewards the horse asked for was affection, and, on occasion the core of his apple.  
  
"I suppose you still have the intentions of purchasing a saloon?" She looked at her son, anticipating an answer, but she didn't get one. "I hope you remember, Ezra, that there are certain appearances that must be maintained."  
  
Ezra rolled his eyes, but didn't say anything.  
  
Maude waved her hand in front of her face and sighed. The dust was driving her mad, and she would much prefer the comfort of a busy city. "You can reach me at The Grand Hotel," she said, picking through her purse, "I've made plans to meet a Mr. Jack Sanford." She smiled as though he had already been caught.  
  
"Isn't The Grand a little…extravagant?"  
  
"I'm not paying." She smiled mischievously. Maude looked out the window and noticed the small town coming into view. She was planning on catching the train, a much more respectable way to travel, and then she'd be gone from her son's life…again.  
  
Ezra pulled his jacket sleeve down and situated himself on his seat. He knew they were getting close to their destination, and he wanted to look presentable. He was looking forward to a bath, a shave, and a hair cut. The past week had been hard on him. Not just with his mother's unusual quirks, but the thoughts of uncertainty filled his mind. He always tried to act unaffected by people's opinion of him, particularly his mother's, but every word and question of his character hurt. He rebuffed the insults, false accusations, and lack of trust, with his quick wit and big words. But they all stung, but what caused him the most pain was his mother's lack of acceptance. And once again she was leaving to find another gold mine that she'd lose, only to turn around and ask of him what he couldn't give her. His devotion.  
  
The horses came to a stop and Ezra sighed. It was times like these when he missed Cora, and her unconditional love. He missed Benny, and he couldn't bring himself to forgive himself for what he had done. No matter if he'd been right. Ezra missed the life he could never go back to.  
  
He missed home.  
  
******  
  
The saloon bustled with activity. Saloon girls moved through the maze of tables and customers like rats to cheese. An old man tried to make the even older piano sing, but its out-of-tune keys deafened those that were already hard of hearing. Voices grew louder as the noise in the room escalated. Poker chips flung across tables and landed with the slight twang that sounded like music in Ezra's ears. Money was being folded and stashed away, coins were being dropped for glasses of libations, and boots scraped across the floor indicating that someone had too much to drink.  
  
Ezra moved through the labyrinth like a pro. His clothing and hat let everyone know he was a gambler. The tails of his coat brushed against the back of his thighs, and his weapons hung perfectly from his body. He knew how to reach them, and how to use them.  
  
"Gentlemen," Ezra said with a warm smile, "may I join you?"  
  
An older man wearing a ten-gallon hat looked Ezra over before nodding. The man's face was covered in old scars and his beard and mustache had come in completely white. "It's a two dollar ante," he said, and then started shuffling the cards.  
  
"You a riverboat gambler?" Another man asked, and then took a drink of his beer.  
  
"Not anymore," Ezra replied with a grin.  
  
"Just so's you know…we might not be able to toss ya overboard, but we's can still shoot ya."  
  
"I'll take that under advisement," Ezra said, removing his hat.  
  
"Five card draw, duce's wild," the dealer said, before dealing.  
  
"Name's Hank," a young kid said. His blonde hair stood up on end and he hardly looked old enough to be there. "That," he pointed to the dealer, "is Bobcat Jones…"  
  
"Interesting moniker."  
  
The kid shrugged his shoulders and continued, "That's Big Duke, next to him, and finally the Cap."  
  
Obviously nobody has a real name, Ezra thought, while handling his cards. "Ezra…Ezra Standish."  
  
"I'll take two," Big Duke said, lying two cards face down on the green felted table.  
  
Ezra watched each man carefully. Bobcat Jones liked to pull at his mustache when he bluffed, and when he thought he had a winning hand, he'd scratch his left eyebrow. Big Duke had a tendency to play with his beer glass, when he bluffed he drank more, and when his cards looked good he'd tap the table top next to the bottom of the glass. Ezra smiled, each man was different, but at the same time, they were all the same. The Cap had the hardest tells to discover, but they were there. And Ezra, like a wolf caught in a trap, continued to gnaw at the problem. It was near the end of the first hour when Ezra caught it, the slight twinge of Caps nose. When he knew he had a solid hand, he knew he didn't have to bluff, so he scratched his nose out of relief. But when he did bluff he held his cigar in his fingers until the hand was finished. Hank was the easiest to discover, he didn't have a poker face at all, but Ezra wasn't going to take advantage of a kid who was only there to learn. This was part of the game. It wasn't just knowing the cards, but rather, the players.  
  
The game was a relatively friendly one, until a table not far from where Ezra and the others were sitting, started to grow loud with an argument. Hank ducked when a bottle of Red Eye was thrown across the room. The glass shattered and contents sprayed in all directions, and like a bomb ready to explode, the room erupted.  
  
Tables were upturned, and chairs flew across the room landing nowhere in particular. Glass shattered, and customers were thrown through the windows. Alcohol soon covered everything from bodies to the floor, and spittoons were emptied unceremoniously on unsuspecting targets.  
  
Ezra hit Duke who was trying to strangle Hank, and then he felt strong arms grab him around his middle. There wasn't anything quite like a saloon brawl. Fists connected with jaws and stomachs, while heads connected with the floor and walls. Ezra wiped his nose and sighed when he saw blood on his fingers. If it wasn't for the fact that his coat was new he would have thought this to be a good fight. But he hated losing his jackets and vests to blood, and more importantly, his blood. The red stains were permanent.  
  
When the back of a chair connected with the right side of Ezra's jaw he flew backwards and landed with a thud against the bar. He grabbed his jaw and rolled onto his back. He saw stars for a moment, and then, without much thought, he crawled out the back door. His head felt as though his head weighed a ton, and his mouth was on fire. He could hear the fight inside continuing and it wasn't long before a shot rang out and everything stopped.  
  
Finally.  
  
Ezra sat on the step debating on whether or not he was going to stand. Blood trickled down his chin landing on his sleeve. Carefully, he placed his handkerchief on his jaw and cringed. His mouth was on fire…or at least he felt like it was. He looked up when he saw several patrons moving haphazardly down the boardwalk. Ezra took a deep breath and decided to get back to his room. He needed to know what the damage was to his face…and even worse…his teeth.  
  
******  
  
Dr. Owen Carter took a step back from his patient and sighed. "That tooth needs to be pulled," he said, knowing the news wasn't going to be good.  
  
Ezra sighed, not the information he wanted to hear. "Is there nothing you can do?" he asked, trying to keep himself seated.  
  
The doctor looked around his clinic. Nobody was there. Being a dentist was hard enough; most people would let their teeth rot out of their heads before they'd come to him. And when they finally did come, it was usually too late. In turn, this caused his income to be on the…small side, to say the least.  
  
"From what I can see, the tooth is still secured…however, it won't be long before it turns…"  
  
"So I'm going to lose it no matter what?" Ezra asked, already knowing the answer. He'd taken care of his teeth ever since he was a young boy. Most of the men in his ranks would tease him about it during the war. While others were out looking for food and clothing, Ezra was searching for tooth powder.  
  
"There is a procedure I can do…"  
  
"How much?" Ezra asked, before allowing the doctor to finish.  
  
"Forty dollars," he sighed, knowing the price was too high.  
  
"What does it entail?"  
  
Doctor Carter's eyes glistened. This was the first patient he'd ever had that was even willing to listen. "I'll cover the tooth in gold by pounding and heating layers onto the existing incisor…it's a painful process, but well worth it." The hope in his voice was obvious.  
  
Ezra clenched his jaw and nodded. He couldn't go around without a tooth, and even worse a tooth that would turn black after it had gone bad. "I try and avoid pain as much as possible, however, in this case I don't think there's any way around it." Ezra leaned forward in his chair and pulled out his pocketbook. He didn't think he'd be willing to pay the man after the procedure, so it was better to pay him now.  
  
The doctor smiled and took the cash. "I'll just get my instruments."  
  
Ezra leaned back in his chair, hoping and praying that he didn't end up crying like a little boy getting his first hair cut. Appearances were everything, and he needed to keep a certain façade. Unconsciously, he gripped the handles on the chair when the doctor entered the room with a case of supplies.  
  
This was going to hurt.  
  
Chapter 14  
  
1874  
  
Trouble bit down on the blanket that was covering the still sleeping form beneath. He pulled the object away from Ezra's body and shook his head. It was time to get up.  
  
Ezra reached for his cover. "Trouble!" he snapped, and then covered himself again.  
  
The horse stood over his master and stomped his foot. The warm sun was out and he wanted to get going. He reached down again and pulled the blanket from Ezra's form and then quickly backed away. He wouldn't get it this time.  
  
Ezra sat up in a huff and looked at his horse that seemed to be laughing at him. "I can still sell you," he said plainly.  
  
Trouble shook his head and then lifted his upper lip.  
  
He was definitely laughing.  
  
Ezra stood up and slowly started a fire for his coffee. He watched as his horse moved around the campsite, looking for something to do. Trouble was more like a dog than a horse, and he was just as loyal. Ezra had given up trying to tie him, opting to just let the horse walk around free. He never went very far, and he always responded to Ezra's whistle or call.  
  
The gold watch glistened in the early morning sun and Ezra shut the cover. It was 7:00 a.m. too early by any standards. Trouble munched quietly on the grass near the creek, and Ezra poured himself a cup of his coffee, spiked, of course with a touch of fine Kentucky whiskey.  
  
*******  
  
Fort Laramie could hardly be called a fort at all. Since its original formation the military post had expanded. It was now a busy town with stores, homes, a school, and of course a church. It was a large place that held people of all kinds from everywhere. Traders, travelers, merchants, and soldiers walked the streets, and called this place home.  
  
Ezra entered the busy saloon and seated himself at a table near the rear door. He was tired, hungry, and in need of a drink. People talked, some argued, glasses hit tabletops splattering beer and whiskey in all directions. Spittoons continued to ring as they were pushed across the wood floors and filled with chew and spit, sometimes more. Poker chips rang like Christmas bells as they were tossed into the center of the table, and cards passed through air. This was the kind of place Ezra felt most at home.  
  
"Ezra?" a familiar voice asked, stepping closer to the table.  
  
Ezra looked up from his plate of food and furrowed his brow. "Can I help you?" he asked, unsure of what to expect.  
  
"John," the man said, "John Carpenter." He stuck his hand out for Ezra to shake. "We served together durin' Fredericksburg."  
  
Ezra smiled and willingly shook the man's hand and then motioned for him to take a seat at his table. "I seem to remembah you had a friend, John?"  
  
John nodded: "Yeah, after the war we rode togethah for a while, but, well," he shook his head, unsure of how to finish, "he always said he wasn't goin' to live long. He got run ovah by his plow."  
  
"Sorry to heah that, he seemed to be a good sort." Ezra pushed his plate away, no longer hungry as images of his past filled his mind. "So, what are you doin' so far north?"  
  
"Huntin' the Yankee bastards that killed my pa," John said angrily. "They strung him up like a dog and burned our farm to the ground."  
  
"Have you found any of them?"  
  
"Not as yet," John shook his head, "but I will." The determination in his voice left no room for doubt.  
  
"I'm lookin' for a few men from Hooker's regiment…"  
  
"How do you know?" Ezra asked, slightly surprised by John's bitterness.  
  
"My sistah was there…she told me everythin'," he leaned over the table top, "they took her." His eyes pleaded for understanding, and he received it. "She died a few months ago, that's why I'm here lookin' for the monstah's that did it."  
  
"I'm truly sorry, John."  
  
"Are you still gamblin'?" John asked, changing the subject.  
  
Ezra grinned, exposing his gold tooth. "Certainly."  
  
John smiled and leaned back in his chair: "You ever think about the war?" he asked, suddenly solemn.  
  
"I try not to," Ezra admitted.  
  
John nodded and cracked his knuckles. "How about a game of cards?"  
  
Ezra shook his head, John wasn't any different that himself. He changed his mood like a green horse's desire to buck. Ezra removed his playing cards and quickly began shuffling. A friendly game of cards, what else could they do to ease the tension?  
  
*******  
  
Trouble walked patiently toward their next location. Another town, more nameless faces, and, characteristically, another place they wouldn't be able to call home. The hot sun beat down on the pair and Ezra had given up wearing his jacket, opting instead for his crisp white shirt. He flipped his cards between his fingers as though they were an extension of his hand, a part of himself. He stared at the ace of spades, wondering why he was drawn to it. Just like his father had been.  
  
Had his father been a wanted man as well?  
  
Ezra took his hat of briefly to run his fingers through his auburn hair and then he quickly replaced it. He'd jumped bail in Fort Laramie, something he'd never 'expected' he'd do, but something he was capable of doing. The crime wasn't anything serious. He'd simply paid the twenty dollars to be released from his incarceration, and then fled, before he could be sentenced for a diminutive crime. He hadn't done anything wrong. Well, that was an understatement. He'd pissed off the wrong judge by placing a bet on whether or not Judge Travis had enough nerve to sentence a man to hang for killing his wife.  
  
Obviously the judge hadn't been amused when he heard about the wager.  
  
Judge Orin Travis had jailed Ezra for contempt of court. The gambler didn't find the charge viable, so he paid his bail money and left. He'd been in several towns, seen several court cases, and he knew what the punishment was for a man who killed his wife.  
  
A slap on the hand, sometimes it was worse and a fine was included, but that was usually it.  
  
Ezra'd had it, plus he'd seen a way to make a little extra cash. What harm was there in that? Except for the fact that the judge hadn't found it amusing. What did the short man with pudgy fingers know anyway? Nothing, as far as Ezra was concerned. John had thought the bet appropriate, but he'd managed to get out of town before being arrested.  
  
Trouble perked his ears forward when a town started to appear in the distance. Ezra sighed, perhaps he could acquire a drink, something to eat, and possibly some cash. Surely there were some cowboys there looking for a good game of cards, and if worse came to worse, he could always resort to the blanks in his saddlebag, and pull a con.  
  
It wasn't going to be his first choice, but at least he had one.  
  
In the years he'd had to think about his past, he had never thought that this would end up his life. His dreams of San Francisco had, somehow, been reprioritized, and in the process he'd lost sight of it. The hope and anticipation of owning his own saloon still rang true in his heart, but for some reason he didn't think he'd make it to California. He missed home, the deep rich smells of the Southern winds, and the soft subtle changes of the color green.  
  
He'd fought hard for his country, and lost. He'd killed his best friend, and over the years that day had become a haunting memory, one that would never leave him. No matter what he did to twist and turn his ideals and beliefs, the only constant he had in his life was himself. His ability to play cards, his ability to con, and his desire to keep moving. Perhaps that was his punishment, his hell on earth, forever wondering and never being invited to stay…like the Devil himself.  
  
Perhaps one day, when he'd be brave enough he'd face those Southern Crosses, those uninvited burdens that he carried. Maybe…just maybe, he'd make it home to see Benny…and possibly he'd visit the place where his father had died. And then possibly, he'd build two simple white crosses to mark those two graves. But until he was ready to face his past, he'd fall into his future.  
  
The End  
  
Notes: Insurance policies, though not common, were available. Approximately 60,000 slaves were insured prior to the Civil War. For less than $20.00 a year, and for as much as $1000, a master could insure his slave, and like today, there were conditions for a pay out on the event of the slaves death.  
  
The information I acquired regarding the position the South had during the Civil War I obtained through two books, both of which I highly recommend to anyone more interested in the subject matter.  
  
The Men In Gray: by Robert Catlett Cave  
  
The South Was Right: by James Ronald Kennedy and Walter Donald Kennedy 


End file.
